Every Rose Has Its Thorn
by T. Mirai
Summary: RETURNING FEBRUARY 2014! A series of short stories inspired by the characters of Sirens of Azeroth. Every individual has a story, a flaw, a weakness, a secret, and a past, just as they have their own brilliant beauty, strength, and light.
1. A Prologue of Sorts

A/N: Please be aware that this is a collection of short stories based on characters from my Warcraft fanfic "Sirens of Azeroth". This is not meant to be a stand alone story, but supplemental reading linked to SoA, meaning, to understand just what the hell is going on, you'll have to have read it first. This is dedicated to all of the readers that have made SoA such a joy to write. Thank you so much, and I hope you enjoy this extended journey into the lives of some of your favorite character. ~ T Mirai

* * *

A Prologue of Sorts

...in which Leyla decides to run away.

Leyla Jadefern was angry. No, beyond angry. She was frustrated past a willingness to be understanding, which is why she had so abruptly snatched the letter sent from her brother from her father's hand and turned around, determined to stomp out of the house. It made her feel childish and petty, acting like such a brat, but if her parents refused to treat her like an adult, she didn't know why she wasted her breath and energy trying to assert herself as one.

"Leyla," her father said in his stern, hard voice, halting the young night elf's steps before she could reach the hall. Archdruid Kal Jadefern's serious face and stiff, imposing height was just as commanding as his tone. His brow was knitted over his golden eyes, lips pulled into a scowl Leyla had seen him wear too many times. "I apologize for...breaking your harp," he said with more gruffness than repentance in his voice. "It was not my intention to do so. All the same, we asked you a legitimate question that I think deserves an answer."

Biting her lip and balling her fists, Leyla spun around to regard her father with an infuriated sneer. "I don't understand why I should answer any of your questions when you're just going to dismiss my answers, father," she replied tersely. Her eyes flicked to the pieces of wood and loose strings near her the druid's feet. "Or break my things."

Lifting his chin and narrowing his eyes, the elder of the Jadefern family regarded his daughter shrewdly. "As I said, that was an accident, but you would not pay attention to your mother and I and stop playing. Perhaps if you would act more maturely when we are discussing your future and pay attention, such things wouldn't happen," he retorted.

"_Surfal_..." the priestess sitting in the wicker chair next to where her husband stood said softly, frowning at him before looking at Leyla. Despite the fact her tone was quieter than her husband's, it was no less reproachful. "Do you think our concerns and wishes for you are unwarranted?"

Frustrated and wishing she could just leave before her temper flared up even hotter, Leyla put a hand to her temple to rub it as if it would ease her pounding headache. "No, but when you express the same ones repeatedly day-after-day, expecting them to change abruptly, I think it's a little excessive!"

"If you showed some initiative in your life beyond playing your harp and idling your time away, we would have no reason to ask you," Kal interjected, gesturing angrily to the broken instrument that lay in parts on the floor, cracked when her father pushed it down in anger during their argument.

Meerna Jadefern lifted a hand to silence her husband, who growled in frustration and turned away. "Leyla, you have been of age for some time now," she said to her daughter in that calm, almost condescending voice she always used. As if she was speaking to a youngling. "We have...come to accept that you are not meant to be a priestess. If Elune does not will it, so be it, but your father is right. You cannot be idle and without ambition when your brother and so many are risking their lives and journeying away from Teldrassil, or even within its borders, to serve the needs of our people."

Leyla snorted, rolling her eyes at the irony of her mother's words. "How am I to aid our people outside of Darnassus if you fret and complain when I just go to Dolanaar?"

"Had you completed your training at least, you would have learned enough to protect yourself!" her father growled, folding his arms. "Kaldorei even younger than you at least know proper defense."

Narrowing her eyes at the old druid, Leyla's fingers tightened, crumpling the letter in her hand. It was the letter that had been the catalyst for this particular squabble. But anything could set off an argument between her and her parents. Leyla only had to breathe and it seemed like a conflict was sure to ensue.

Inhaling a deep breath, the young night elf released it in a slow, heavy sigh. "_An'da...en'da..._" she murmured, trying to subdue her steadily rising annoyance. "I don't know what you want from me. I am not a priestess. I am not a druid. I admit I am still not certain what I would like to pursue in my life, but you cannot continue too—"

"This is not the time to be a useless, indecisive member of society!" Kal interrupted, volume rising again. "We are still rebuilding the very livelihood of our people, child, while trying to assert ourselves within the Alliance. Our resources are already spread thin here on Kalimdor, not to mention the Eastern Kingdoms. We must maintain presence in Outland as well. The Kaldorei need every one of their children to devote themselves to the cause. There is _plenty _you could be doing to offer aid. Your mother needs help harvesting herbs for her potions, for one. You could even take up alchemy."

Groaning in exasperation, Leyla couldn't help a frustrated stamp of her foot. "_An'da_, you know that I abhor potion making. I don't even know why you would suggest that! I'm terrible at it!"

"Then you need to figure out what you _can _do, Leyla!" the elder druid snapped back,pointing at his daughter. "Think of someone besides yourself for once and about what you can do for others! You will never have any worth among our people if you continue this...listless, self-centered apathy! And you certainly won't be fit to be the mate of a Druid of the Grove!

Meerna gasped and Leyla would have too, had she not been robbed of her voice in her shock. Her hand had flown to her lips, silver eyes wide and hurt as she stared at her father in disbelief. "How...how could you even say that?" she murmured, the pain evident in her voice.

Kal's ears flicked, gaze dropping to the letter Leyla held. "You wonder why he doesn't come back to you..."

"Kal!" Meerna snapped, long brows knitted above her wide eyes. "That is enough!"

"No! Perhaps _this _is what she needs to hear!" he silenced his wife, keeping his gaze on Leyla. Kal Jadefern's expression was not without some remorse, his ears drooping down and his face softening for a moment before he sighed heavily, walking toward his young daughter. "Leyla...Azurian is going to become a very powerful druid. His healing skills and connection with the earth are hailed by the Archdruid himself. He has done much for our people and continues to prove himself as a leader among our society. He is like a son to me, and just like with Alaric...I want to see him with someone that would be a proper match for him. Someone worthy."

The words stung Leyla deep to her core and the tears that rolled down her cheeks were not only of frustration, but offended hurt. Her mother look just as scandalized, gawking at her husband in disbelief. Kal Jadefern kept his eyes level with his distraught daughter's before looking away. "You are not ready to be his, Leyla," he murmured, shaking his head. "He knows this and...surely you do too."'

Leyla didn't realize she was shaking until her father's heavy hand placed itself on her shoulder. She skittishly yanked herself away from him, backing up until she was pressed against the wall. Despite Kal's rueful expression, the young night elf could feel nothing but fury for her father. For both her parents. For Azurian and even Alaric to some degree. Did they all see her as worthless and weak?

Brows furrowing above her narrowed, wet eyes, Leyla bore her teeth in a furious snarl. "I would rather be a...listless, worthless woman than what any of _you _deems as _worthy_," she rasped, voice breaking with emotion. "And I would never want _my _worth to be centered around the fact that I am _his _wife. I will not let you, him, or even our people dictate to me what I should be!"

Both her parents were as stupefied silent as Leyla had been a moment ago, and whether or not they were struggling to form a reply, the night elf didn't care. Her mother was calling her name as she swiftly stalked down the hall of the house to her bedroom and slammed the door behind her, pressing her back against it. She thought she would be followed at first, but when Leyla heard no footsteps or voices from the hall, she stepped away from the door and covered her face.

Leyla was tired of crying. Though this particular argument had by far been the worse, this was not the first time she had heard such words from her father and mother. They were frustrated with her, she understood. They had one child who was becoming one of the most renowned and respected druids among the Kaldorei, and another who seemed to fail at almost everything she pursued. Yet they did not seem to realize that the one who was most frustrated with Leyla was herself.

Whatever she was meant to be, she felt she would never discover that within Darnassus. It was as much a prison for her as it was a haven, serving to remind her that she had found no place within its walls, at least according to her parents and, apparently, Azurian as well. So many young Kaldorei had ventured outside of the protective boughs of their new Home Tree to seek their paths and fortunes elsewhere. Leyla found herself longing to follow behind them, but she was caught in a vicious cycle: if she didn't know how to protect herself and be on her own, how could she ever leave Darnassus and learn how to be on her own?

Fingers loosening around the long roll of parchment in her fist, Leyla looked down at the letter that had arrived just that morning from her brother. As always, Alaric Jadefern's correspondence had arrived on the first moon of the month. Yet it was both what that letter was missing (once again) and contained that had disheartened her and pushed her frustrated anger to its crescendo. No longer were Alaric's letters bundled with a second roll of parchment written in Azurian's careful hand writing and addressed to Leyla. It had been more than a year since the other druid had written regularly, and several months since he had written at all. In Alaric's recent letter, there was only the briefest, most impersonal mention of Azurian.

_We are well and miss you all dearly, especially you, my little sister. Azurian hopes that you are well and wishes Elune's blessings on you. _

Wrenching open the wooden chest at the foot of her bed, Leyla rifled through its contents until she pulled out a large, partially filled traveling pack. It held a collection of various objects, including a bundle of papers bound with a piece of twine. She removed the stack of parchment—old, slightly wrinkled and stained letters—and carefully unbound it. They were all folded neatly and lovingly in a stack, arranged chronologically so that the one on top, the one she picked up and unfolded, was the last letter she had received from her druid lover.

Leyla knew each one nearly by heart, having spent many a night reading them in the privacy of her bedroom by moonlight, their tenderly written words instilling in her a deep yearning for the one that wrote them.

Yet now, as her eyes scanned the familiar paragraphs and her mind heard Azurian's voice speaking them, they filled her with nothing but burning resentment...

* * *

**_Some years before..._**

"I don't want vegetable stew for dinner."

Looking over her shoulder, long violet hair swinging down her back, Leyla blinked with wide eyes at the druid that had suddenly appeared behind her. Flushing faintly, she clucked her tongue and rolled her silvery glowing eyes. "Mother said you looked undernourished," she quipped back with a shrug of her shoulders. "And nothing is more nourishing than her vegetable stew."

Growling softly, Alaric Jadefern made an unhappy grunt. "What I need is some meat," he grumbled, looking over his little sister's shoulder at the collection of greens and root vegetables in her sack. Lips curling back to reveal the tips of his elongated canines, the druid sighed. "I ate nothing but dried jerky and pickled vegetables while in Ashenvale. I want something more substantial. And bloody."

Snorting with a chuckle, Leyla turned around to touch her brother's slightly scruffy chin and jaw, not missing the presence of darker, purplish-brown hair there streaked in the deep violet. "You really have been spending too much time as a bear, Alaric," she teased, smirking before returning her eyes back to the vendor's stall, scanning through the displayed vegetables and fruits. "How did your meeting with the Circle go?"

Alaric rolled his large shoulders and grunted, nose twitching and bright, amber eyes lowering to watch a wisp float past them. "Fair, I suppose," he replied with a shrug and a scowl his sister could not see. "We gave our report on the movements of the Burning Legion, and a group of Silverwing Sentinels spoke about the Horde's encroachment on the ancient forests there. And there was talk of other disheartening things that will soon need immediate attention." He sighed and shook his head, the bone ornaments around his neck tinkling. "Nothing that makes for good conversation, little one."

Pursing her lips in concern, Leyla glanced back at Alaric, an expression of sisterly worry on her face. "You were in Ashenvale for months, Alaric. You really should relax a little bit before jumping right back into other Cenarion Circle business."

Chuckling thinly, Alaric carded his fingers through his wild, partially bound hair. "Tell that to father and the Archdruid." Watching his sister pick through a pile of potatoes, the druid's face fell briefly before he grunted and looked away once more. "Though I might just...get out of the city for a little while. Perhaps shift and go running to Dolanaar or to the lake to bathe."

Leyla snickered, inspecting a potato before putting it in her sack. "I thought I just said you've been spending too much time as a bear? But, if that's what you want to do, alright. I'm sure being back here in Darnassus is stifling for you." Grinning wryly, she flicked her eyes down at her bags. "Now that you've been all over the world."

Observing his sister's behavior, and not missing the jealous wistfulness in her voice, Alaric smiled faintly and reached up to comb his fingers through Leyla's long tresses. "Yes, it is..." he murmured. "But honestly, at times...I can think of no other place I'd want to be than here."

Looking up and over her shoulder to meet her older brother's gaze, Leyla frowned at the expression she found him wearing. "Alaric, what's wrong?"

The druid's lips quirked upward faintly and he petted his sister's head. "Speaking of relaxing, I do know there is someone who is very much in need." Hooding his eyes impishly, Alaric winked. "And I'm sure he's leaving the Cenarion Enclave right now, looking haggard, worn, and longing for—"

Eyes widening and cheeks flushing brightly as she gasped, Leyla nearly squealed in delight. "He's here? Now? Why didn't you tell me!" she giggled, bouncing, jostling the produce in her bag.

Alaric chuckled, charmed and uplifted by his younger sister's giddiness from hearing her lover had returned home. "Let me take these to mother," he said with a sly grin, gently tugging the bag from her arms. "And I'll tell her and father you are enjoying an evening with your handsome Druid of the Grove. I'm sure they'll excuse you from dinner tonight. And I'm sure you'll enjoy getting away from them for an evening."

Nibbling her bottom lip, the night elf's ice blue skin turned an even brighter shade of red. "Thank you, Alaric," she told her brother with a smile, leaning up to kiss his cheek and nuzzle her nose against his jaw.

The druid squeezed his sister's arm fondly and kissed her forehead. "Just...go be sweet and kind to him like only you can. He deserves it."

Smiling wider, Leyla patted her brother's chest and canted her head playfully. "You should find someone to be sweet and kind to you. You deserve it too."

Alaric only smirked wryly and made a shooing gesture. "Go on now. You'll miss him if you wait too long."

Leyla grinned at Alaric, blew him a kiss, then after picking up the hem of her long, flowing skirts, dashed quickly away, navigating through the throngs of people walking the paths of the Tradesmen's Terrace in the direction of the Cenarion Circle. With each step she took that carried her closer to Azurian, jittery excitement thrummed in Leyla's body, evident in the brighter gleam of her silver eyes, the rosiness of her cheeks, and the broad smile on her lips.

In the back of her mind, something nagged at her, unnerved by her brother's odd behavior. Yet it was such a small concern at that moment, overwhelmed and pushed aside by her ever growing euphoria.

* * *

"Leyla?"

Nearly on the cusp of sleep, the female's eyes fluttered open and she made a sleepy noise, stirring against the nude, light-indigo colored body next to her. When her glowing gaze found the others amber stare, she smiled and spooned closer to the Kaldorei druid, draping a leg and an arm over him to tug herself closer. "Mmhmm?" she hummed softly, kissing lightly over his thick pectoral.

Sighing through his nose and releasing the breath in a small moan, Azurian's hand reached up to lazily drift up and down the sensual curve of his lover's spine. "I need to talk to you about something."

"Mmm? Oh?" Leyla replied with an impish grin, pecking her lips teasingly around his darker, dusky nipple. She smiled wider at the soft hiss that escaped his lips when her fingers drifted down the crease of his hard stomach.

Wetting his lips and sighing through his nose, the druid pursed his lips, trying to ignore the female's touch moving lower down his body. "The Cenarion Circle is returning to Sithilus."

The words were far from anything she would have expected him to say, and far from anything she wanted to hear at that moment. The night elf froze, hand stilling, waiting for him to continue as her pulse quickened. There was only one reason he would tell her such a thing.

"Your father has requested that Alaric and I go with them."

Leyla pushed up on her forearms to look down at Azurian, long brows knitted over her eyes. "But...what about your work here?" she asked, her heart thumping hard in her chest. She was sure he could feel it between their naked skin, as well as the tensing of her body. "I thought destroying the satyrs and curing the tree's infections was most important to the Circle right now?"

She could see Azurian's jaw tighten behind his closed lips. "The Archdruid and his council have concluded that the Life-Binder's blessings have strengthened Teldrassil to a point that what corruption remains is manageable by a...smaller force of druids and volunteers. But in Sithilus, the situation there has worsened to the point that more than just monitoring and observation is needed. The Twilight's Hammer cult are amassing again. There have been reports of Qiraji moving inside the borders of the Scarab Wall." Azurian's expression sobered even further. "A second war seems imminent."

Ears drooping and eyes widening in both fear and disappointment, Leyla averted her gaze from the druid's. "And...you are going." She knew this was true even before Azurian answered. It's why Alaric had acted so odd in the marketplace. It was what he hadn't told her.

"Yes," he said with a small nod. "A large group of sentinels and druids will be deployed as soon as resources are gathered and we coordinate with the tauren."

Leyla couldn't mask her further displeasure and sorrow with this news even if she wanted to. "You don't _have _to go just because my father asked you to," she grumbled with an angry snap in her tone. "If you want to stay and continue your work here in Teldrassil, I am sure he would understand."

Pursing his lips faintly, Azurian sighed through his nose. "He has already spoken with the Archdruid about it, Leyla. I am needed in Sithilus and...I want to go."

Lips twitching in quick irritation, Leyla sighed heavily. She felt awkward being so affectionately spooned against Azurian when all she wanted to do was shove him out of the bed. "I see," she replied tersely, leaning up to sit back against the wooden headboard, giving enough space between their bodies so that they weren't touching.

Azurian frowned, rolling over on his side to prop himself up on an elbow, sex tussled hair falling in his glowing eyes. Leyla didn't look at him. She didn't want to be reminded of how utterly in love she was with this infuriatingly dutiful, handsome druid.

"Leyla, I'm sorry..." he said softly in a tone meant to placate her like the hand on her knee, though it only had the opposite effect. Azurian could see the flush of anger in her cheeks and he sighed, withdrawing his touch. "I didn't know this would happen so soon."

"You said you would be in Darnassus for at least a long while," she muttered, trying to keep her voice steady, though it was already wavering as tears trickled down her cheeks.

Lowering his ears and gaze, Azurian looked down at the space between them. "I know."

"You said the Archdruid wouldn't send you away again because of your service at Hyjal-"

"I know, Leyla, but things have-"

"You said you wanted to stay here with me."

Falling silent for a long moment, the druid glanced up at his younger lover. "Leyla...I do," he replied in a voice that was a little less patient than before. "You know that. But I have a duty to the Circle. I cannot be selfish and choose being here with you over protecting our people, even the world, from those creatures."

His calloused, gentle hand reached up to touch her cheek and direct her gaze down to him. Tears dripped down her cheeks and her anger was a hot, irritated thing in her chest, but it could not help but deflate a little when she saw Azurian's handsome, tender smile and the regret in his gaze. "I would do anything to protect you," he whispered.

Leyla swallowed down the sobbed pleas she so desperately wanted to use against his rational argument, pushing her frustration beneath a knowledge that he was right. First and foremost, Azurian would always be a druid of the Cenarion Circle. And as spoiled and demanding as she could be, Leyla would never be so selfish as to ask him to put her above such a gravely and infinitely important task.

"Then...be careful protecting me," she replied in a weak voice, smiling with wobbly lips and reaching up to put her hand on his where it rested on her cheek.

Azurian smiled and leaned up to press his mouth firmly against Leyla's. The druid's earthy, masculine scent and the warmth of his kiss overwhelmed her anger, assuaging it beneath a soft blanket of calm and comfort that only he could imbue in her. Her arms unfolded and draped around his shoulders when he sat up to tug her against his solid, muscular chest.

When they were breathless from kissing, Leyla lay her head against Azurian's collarbone and closed her eyes, making it a point to commit everything about that moment to memory. The soft thump of his heart, the heat and strength of his corded body against hers, the rhythmic slow rush of breath in and out of his lungs-she took in every detail about her lover to hold on to when he was gone. For there was no telling how long he would way.

"What should we do about the ceremony?"

And with those few words, the bittersweet moment between them just became...bitter. Silver eyes opening abruptly, Leyla's brows knitted. "What...do you mean?" she warily asked, resisting lifting her gaze.

Shifting on the bed a little, Azurian cleared his throat. "Well, I...doubt that I'll be here at the end of the season," he began slowly, obviously choosing his words carefully. "And with the priests and druids so occupied by matters with the Alliance, the situation in Sithilus, and curing the taint of the corruption here, I doubt any of them will be able to perform it earlier. Not to mention, your father and mine are still traveling with the Archdruid. We don't know when they and the other Elders will return." He chuckled thinly. "They would be quite displeased if we were to wed without them present."

Leyla felt the prickle of tears behind her glowing eyes return, as well as the urge to push Azurian as hard as she could to the floor. Once more, the druid spoke with rationale, yet the younger night elf could not help but wonder what unspoken words were beneath what he said. After Hyjal, he had always talked so vehemently against the possibility of having to leave Darnassus and his wife-to-be for matters the Cenarion Circle involved themselves in outside of Teldrassil. Ever loyal to the Archdruid Fandral Staghelm, Azurian shared his conviction that the Kaldorei need only be concerned with what involved the Kaldorei, and that as long as they were safe within the boughs of their new Home Tree, even venturing outside of it was unnecessary. He didn't want to lose her, he would say. Perhaps they should even consider moving the date of their wedding ceremony up.

It seemed as if Azurian's thoughts about a lot of things had changed.

"Yes...they would be displeased," she murmured mutely, closing her eyes to force back her tears. "I suppose...it's best that we postpone it until you return."

The druid's chest heaved against her as he sighed, and Azurian's large hand gently tilted her chin up. His face wore an expression of pain and regret, just as hers did. Leyla felt guilty that she doubted how genuine it was.

"I know the days seem even longer, now that we are mortal," he murmured, rubbing their noses together, effortlessly disarming her anger again. "But I promise you, as soon as my duties with the Circle are over and I can return to Darnassus, we will be wed in front of all people and the Goddess and I will never leave you."

Azurian's charming, reassuring smile made Leyla's body flush and his firm fingers left trails of heat across her skin as he carded his hand through her violet hair and dragged them down her back. His breath was warm, as were his lips, both ghosting against her mouth as he whispered huskily. "I promise."

Leyla was going to say something, but even if Azurian hadn't kissed her in that firm, sensual, voice-stealing way only he could, she wouldn't have known exactly what to tell him. She could have said that she didn't want him to leave, but if he had to she would rather them wed without their parents' presence, just for the joy and relief of knowing that they truly belonged to one another. She even could have been bluntly honest and voiced her doubts about his fidelity to her.

But with Azurian kissing her that way only he could and his lovingly murmured promise echoing in her ears as he pressed her coaxingly back into the bed, she could do nothing but submit to him and pray to Elune that he would keep his word and return soon.

* * *

Scowling down at the last letter she had received from him, written in his neat handwriting, signed "Always yours, Azurian", Leyla crumbled the parchment into a ball and tossed it furiously into the small hearth burning near her bed. Yes, he had returned. And left again. And returned once more. And left again. And every time he came back to Darnassus, walking up the path to her home, she was there waiting for him, taking him into her arms, lavishing him with affection and comfort, and inviting him back into her heart and into her bed. And in her bed, the promises were spoken again, sweet, placating words of reassurance that she clung to while watching him leave not long after. And in his letters, those words were repeated, always tender, charming, and enough to leave her satisfied in her long waiting.

When the letters stopped, so did the words, and it was then that Leyla realized just how long she had been waiting.

"No more," she sneered to herself, wiping at her tears angrily, refusing to shed any more. She dumped the rest of the bag's contents onto her bed-more bundled letters, a few carved trinkets and small gems Azurian had sent her over the years, and other collected knickknacks-and began removing clothes from her drawers to put neatly and compactly into the bag. For a brief moment, she debated burning the rest of the letters, and even the wooden figurines and glittering jewels, but by the time her pack was full and she was sliding a small dagger into the side pocket, she decided against it. Instead, she separated the jewels from the worthless items and the letters, stowing the latter away in a drawer of her dresser.

Sleep came difficultly that night, and before she managed to nod off for a few hours, Leyla had pondered over her plan repeatedly. She would take the portal to Rut'theran Village, then catch one of the boats to Auberdine. Once there, she could secure passage on another ship that would take her across the seas to Menethil Harbor in the Eastern Kingdoms. It was a busy port city, she had heard from Kaldorei and travelers that had been there. Based on their stories, she figured she had the option of either convincing a caravan to take her as far as the city of the dwarves in Dun Morogh, where she could take the goblin traveling contraption called a "tram" all the way to Stormwind, or find a way to afford a gryphon that could fly her directly to the human city.

Her greatest concern was money. She didn't have much reason to possess the common currency now used among the Alliance races. Leyla would need not only money for travel, but for proper armor and something more deadly than a short dagger to defend herself. Hopefully, the gems that Azurian had sent her would serve more purpose than they ever did sitting idly in her bag. If there worth wasn't sufficient, maybe there was a way she could earn some coin. There was always someone willing to give a few silver for an errand or favor, travelers said often in the inns.

Her parents accused she had no drive or determination. How wrong they were.

When her house grew quiet and Darnassus fell into a sleepy, even more placid state, Leyla rose from her bed, quickly dressed in light traveling clothes, and concealed herself in a cloak before hoisting her heavy pack onto her shoulders. She felt, expectantly, a small pang of fear and sadness as she looked around her bedroom, but thoughts of what could be awaiting her outside Darnassus' walls subdued that feeling beneath a steadily rising wanderlust. It was giddy and new in her veins, energized with nervous anticipation. It directed her through her parents' house on quiet, stealthy feet and down the darker, less direct routes of the city, avoiding the stony gazes and paths of the patrolling Sentinels, to the glowing pinkish-purple portal that lead to Rut'theran Village.

Hesitating just outside the magical circle of glowing light, Leyla turned around to take once last glance at the tranquil city. It wasn't the same as the smaller village in Nordrassil she had been raised in, but, like most younger Kaldorei, she had grown accustomed to Darnassus fairly easily and had embraced the sprawling city within the new World Tree as her home.

Now, the once calm, gently blowing winds felt like they were tugging at her, trying to coax her back into the protective embrace of the city's walls. The silence was nearly deafening in an annoying way that made Leyla want to scream just to disrupt it. Darnassus had become too predictable and even more stifling. If her brother, Azurian, and so many others had escaped what had tethered them to it and to the narrow-minded and isolationist practices of their people, so could she.

"Elune, protect me on my travels," she prayed silently and tugged her hood down low over her glowing eyes. Tightening her grip on the strap of her pack, Leyla Jadefern turned away from Darnassus' looming, quiet buildings and gently babbling channels, and stepped into the brightly illuminated portal, disappearing in a flash of fuchsia light.

* * *

A/N: When first writing Sirens of Azeroth, being that the first chapter began after Leyla's conflicts with her parents, I had to brainstorm what exactly occurred between them and in her life that caused her to run away. Now I see that her reasoning was very much influenced by events that were going on in my own life. Some of you may have remembered my author's notes/profile updates about being busy and stressed out finding a job. Like Leyla, I was in a position in my life when I wasn't sure what I wanted to and could do with myself, given how awful the economy was and how hard it was to find a job. My own parents were not at all very understanding about the time it took to "find myself" and figure out my life. I never had a harp that my father broke, but we had a lot of fights about it that were very similar. Though I don't fully identify with Leyla as a character, we definitely share some things in common. And I think that battling with parents over one's future is something everyone can relate to. Though I have since then found a great job and made peace with my parents, it was therapeutic to write this chapter.

In regard to the title, it was chosen more so for the meaning behind the phrase than the actual song by Poison, haha. And I've kept the M-rating just because I'm not sure what will transpire in future chapters. Better to be safe.

And now you know what Leyla's parents' names are, what exactly happened between her and Azurian, and what led our Baby Thorn to being chased by murlocs in the Wetlands.

**If there are any characters you'd like to know more about/questions you want answered/etc. from SoA, please, send me a review or post them on my Formspring account (link in my profile). I'd love more ideas for future stories. **


	2. Hot and Bothered

A/N: First off, a HUGE thank you goes to Marty1, an awesome writer and great friend who did the "translations" for this chapter. If you enjoy intriguing characters, complex stories with captivating plots, and underhanded, scheming, and crafty blood elves, then I definitely suggest you check out her story "House Dorthonion", one of my favorite Warcraft stories ever: *fanfiction.*net*/u*/172042*/Marty1 (Remove the *s)

I hope you get a kick out of this story, as it was a hoot to write.

* * *

**Hot and Bothered**

...in which Phaen suffers a karmic misfortune.

In the goblin town of Everlook, the tavern in the local lodge was the only warm place that wasn't filled with the smell of oil, metal, and explosives. Therefore, it was the only place the paladin Phaen could tolerate during his unfortunately extended stay there. His traveling, which had no definite direction or purpose, had led him to yet another goblin town. The draenei was sick of the smell of them, their machines, and their grating, shrill voices.

Had it not been for the fact that he was indecisively considering returning to the Exodar, he wouldn't have braved moving north through the Horde dominated continent of Kalimdor and the neutral, but often dangerous, cities that were open to both factions. Yet travel was easiest through goblin hubs, and after having to begrudgingly leave Booty Bay, Ratchet was a logical destination. From there, he went to Everlook just to have the option of boarding a trade zeppelin that would take him directly to Azuremyst Isle. He had ample time to ponder his decision, as the zeppelin departed Everlook only once a week. Phaen had just missed it by one day.

The paladin was grousing over that fact, any many others, in the thankfully cozy tavern of the lodge over a mug of warm cider. At least it was quiet and without the clang of goblins hammering at their various contraptions, and nearly empty save for a few travelers and traders at the bar or in the chairs closer to the hearth. He couldn't imagine why anyone would choose a harsh, freezing land like Winterspring to set up a trade hub. Then again, goblins did a lot of things he—and anyone else with common sense—didn't understand.

The doors to the lodge opened, letting in a gust of chilly wind that hit Phaen right in the back. His teeth chattered and his tail curled around his leg as he hunched over to the bar, shooting a brief, scathing glance at the newcomer entering the tavern as if it were their fault. He supposed it'd be smart of him not to sit right in front of the door.

The draenei moved around the bar to a seat off the side in a corner while the newest patron approached the counter with a loud, long sigh, making an unnecessary amount of noise as they shouldered a large pack from their shoulders, pulled back their hood, and began to unravel a long scarf from their neck.

"Loa, dat parka was bein' getting' me da stuffeh prickles fierce like!" the muffled, vaguely feminine voice exclaimed from beneath the thick wool. "But den I'm bein' pondahrin' dat bein' wit' da bundlin' en't bein' optional when ya bein' takin' a shake in a place dats bein' wit' da shivereh chattahs!"

The female's voice had already wrinkled Phaen's nose with disdain, as he greatly disliked loud, boisterous women. When her hood fell back to reveal a mop of bright, yellow-green hair, a sky blue colored face, and thick lips framed by two small tusks, that disdain turned into extremely uneasy discomfort. The sort of discomfort that instinctively came whenever the paladin was in the presence of a troll.

It was a stupid, foolish phobia, Phaen knew, and he hated even calling it such. Yet ever since he was confronted and threatened by that troll mage on the docks of Booty Bay some several weeks ago, the draenei couldn't stand to be in the presence of one without being on edge. He hadn't liked trolls _before _that brazen, lanky one had seen fit to stick his long nose in his business. Besides being of the Horde, which was an automatic strike against them, they were known for being shrewd and cruel, surrounding themselves in evil, dark mysticism that rivaled the vile nature of the orcs. Phaen could not respect or trust anyone of any race that was a friend to those that had sought the genocide of his people.

Besides that, he just found them...unsightly and creepy. The way they so languidly strolled around with their freakishly long limbs and elekk like tusks with an arrogance that seemed like a racially shared trait. They really were, at their core, repulsively unnerving.

The padded fur lined parka that had made the troll woman look comically plump fell away to reveal a lithe, buxom body clad in nearly nothing at all save for a long sarong and a bust revealing tunic. Huffing through his nose in disgust, Phaen turned his head abruptly away as the troll fair slithered onto a bar stool, her parka and other heavy clothes in a pool around her chair.

"Be givin' me somet'in' fo' swigging dat gwonna be puttin' da sweats on me, straight like," the troll said in her overly audible voice, slapping a few coins down at the table.

The goblin bartender blinked at the troll woman, face scrunching up in confusion. Phaen didn't know what the hell she had said either. "Uh, pardon?" he said.

The troll pursed her pouty lips and huffed. "I been waggin' be givin' me somet'in' fo' swigging dat gwonna be puttin' da sweats on me, straight like!" she said, louder, as if it were volume that was the problem in translation. "And be keepin' it comin'! S'gonna takin' heaps tah get me warmed up stone sure! I can be feelin' mah backside an' tusks freezin' off!"

Phaen made the mistake of snorting, not at all in amusement, but disbelief with her crass, continually loud mouth. Unfortunately for him, the noise captured the troll's attention and her head swiveled in his direction, bright pink eyes wide and fixated on him. Feeling his neck grow hot and a sickening feeling flutter in his stomach, the draenei lowered his head and took a sip from his steaming mug, hoping to be ignored.

He would not be so lucky. "Hoi, mon!" she said, and though it was all too obvious the troll was speaking to no one but him, Phaen didn't look up. His feigned deafness only encouraged her to slide over several stools and perch on the one perpendicular to him, leaning over the counter top. "Oi! I'm bein' talkin' to ya!"

The last sing-sung words were too grating in his ear to ignore and with glowering eyes beneath his heavy brow, the draenei glared up at the troll. "What?" he grunted coldly, hiding his nervousness beneath callousness.

Her teeth were sharp and revealed between her tusks in a grin, and her bright eyes were narrowed in a way that made a shiver roll up his spine. "Whatcha bein' swiggin' den'?" she asked him.

Frowning as his eye twitched, he sneered. "What?"

She pointed at his cup, from which the pleasant aroma and steam of his drink rose. "Whatcha bein' swiggin' on den?" she said slower and louder, lips dramatically forming the words.

To insinuate that it was _his _fault he could not understand her thick accent and strange tongue only made the paladin bristle and he averted his gaze. "Hot cider," he answered brusquely.

Leaning forward further, the troll snuffled at his cup. Phaen scowled and leaned away from her, protectively putting a hand over the mouth of his mug, but the female only snapped up straight in her seat. "Goblin mon, I'll be bein' havin' what he bein' havin'!" she said brightly to the bartender.

The bartender had already been pouring a large mug of frothy, hot cider for the troll and he slid it across the table top to her before collecting the coin at her original seat. "Grins to ya, mon!" she chirped cheerily before tilting her head back and guzzling the drink. Phaen gawked, eyes wide in morbid fascination as the troll gulped down what had to be scalding liquid without so much as a breath or flinch.

The mug was empty when she slammed it down on the counter and wiped her lips on the back of her hand before releasing a happy, satiated sigh. Her eyes flitted to Phaen and she smirked. "Bein' a good choice, straight like. I'm bein' t'ankin' ya, han'some."

Trying to contain the curl of his lip, the draenei attempted to look as aloof as he could while sipping his own beverage as fast as he could. The sooner he could go back up to his room and be rid of the obnoxious trol l woman, the better.

The goblin bartender slid the troll another drink and she took a more reserved long swig of it before once again addressing the draenei. "En't da frequent like yo' kind be shakin' up tah dis side o' da Tunnel," she commented, crossing her leg over her knee. Her sarong parted to reveal her naked thigh as she bounced her fur wrapped foot.

It was obvious he couldn't just ignore the woman, who would probably just talk until he couldn't stand it anymore. "I have my reasons for being here," he replied snappily, drinking his cider.

"Ya bein' on yo' lonesome?" she asked, the tone of her voice dropping a few octaves lower.

Phaen's head snapped up and he blinked at the troll, frowning at the hooded eyed stare and sly grin he found her wearing. It, and the change in her voice, made that wary shiver jolt through him again. He inhaled sharply through his nose. "That is none of your concern," he replied with a lift of his chin.

The troll only chuckled, tilting her head, her long, wild bangs falling across an eye, one of her twin braids tipped with beads and feathers falling over her shoulder. "I pondah dat bein' so, and I ain' grindin' ta be makin' it mah concern and I ain' bein' preyin' on ya, if dat's whatcha bein' pondahrin'. M'jus' nose pokin'. Ya know, makin' wit' da friendly waggin'."

His eye twitched again and Phaen closed his eyes with a growl. "I don't wish for… conversation."

"Why? Ya bein' havin' a bad day? Yo' havin' da low eyes?" she asked, sipping her cider.

Balking a little, Phaen frowned and shook his head. "W-what? No."

"Ya broke?"

"No."

"Heartsick? A fen'di done flipped ya somet'in' asp sharp?"

"What? I don't even—no!" He made a frustrated sound and threw a hand up. "Why are you bothering me? What do you want?"

Undeterred, the troll smiled smoothly at Phaen and this time her flirtation was all too evident. "What'cha bein' callin' yo'self, handsome?" she asked in a purr.

Flushing to the tips of his tendrils, Phaen scoffed. "Why would I tell you?" he demanded.

She grinned that unsettling grin again. "It bein' rain righ' and polite tah bein' exchangin' names when ya conversatin'."

Phaen had a twitch in the corner of his right eye that would not cease. "We're not _conversing_. You're bothering me."

"We be waggin' wit' each oddah. Dat soun' like conversatin' tah—"

"Fine!" the paladin interjected irritably. "It's Phaen! Now will you leave me alone?"

The troll smiled brightly. "Fen," she repeated, completely skipping over the long "a" sound. "Well, it bein' all grins tah meet ya, Fen. I'm bein' Siku'dani'dayo'asewatta."

Immediately, the paladin's face had gone scarlet in anger at the mispronunciation of his name, and he opened his mouth to soundly berate her for it. Yet whatever he was going to retort with floundered on his tongue and instead he blinked in bewilderment. "Si—what?"

Siku'dani giggled, putting a hand to her lips as if in coy amusement. "My muuka been likin' da long names. It be meanin' 'unexpected but appreciated gift of joy'. If it be smootha fo' ya tah be waggin', call me Siku. Or Siku'dani. Or Dani. Or Ase. Or Wa-Wa. Any of doz bein' dis side of da line."

Stunned silent for a moment, Phaen stared slack-jawed at the troll before forcing his mouth shut and putting his fingers to the bridge of his nose. "L-look," he growled, barely keeping his irritation subdued. "I came in here to be to myself and have a drink by myself. I do not wish for company, so I respectfully ask to be left alone."

Her lips pursing in a little pout, Siku'dani made a small whine. "Ah, mon, ya much too easy on da eyes tah be all asp sharp an' growlin'," she cooed, fluttering her bright eyes at the draenei.

Perhaps it was from being discombobulated from the situation and his anger, and from the fact that he was on his third or fourth mug of the fairly stout cider, but Phaen's reaction time to the troll suddenly leaning around the bar even closer to him, her hand smoothing over his forearm, and her foot rubbing against his tail, was slower than he would have liked.

"I could be lendin' one ta be getting' rid of somma dat...tension, Fen," Siku'dani murmured in a voice slathered in suggestion. "I be a _real _honey sweet fen'di dat jus'...love big, muscly space goat mons like yaself..."

Siku'dani's words and the way she spoke them were so offensive to everything that Phaen was and upheld that whatever part of his mind controlled his usually subdued temper short-circuited like bad goblin wiring. His face was pallid and blank as he mechanically stood up from his stool, abandoning his half finished cider, and backed away from the bar counter. He wasn't sure what he was going to do first—curse a blue streak or throw up—but he was certain he would figure it out by the time he got back to his room.

Phaen wobbled away awkwardly on unsteady hooves and Siku'dani watched him ascend the stairs to the upper floor of the lodge, blinking her large pink eyes. "Mebbe latah den!" she called after him brightly. "Been real nice like meetin' ya, Fen!"

* * *

As the furbolg's heavy paw, bearing razor sharp, scythe like claws, came crashing down on his plate protected shoulder, Phaen thought to himself that, surely, that wicked troll witch must have cursed him.

Not long after he had left her at the bar and retreated to his room, inwardly assuring himself it was unlikely he would run into the troll named Siku-dodi-whatever again during his stay, he felt as if a black cloud of misfortune and bad luck were looming darkly over him.

First, his coin bag went missing. Phaen would have been convinced he was pick-pocketed by that troll had it not been for the fact he recalled having the bag when he bought himself dinner that same evening. Yet when morning came and his rumbling stomach demanded breakfast, he could not find the small pouch of his gold. After tearing his room apart in search of it, as well as backtracking to the bar and everywhere else he had gone that evening, it was nowhere to be found. And a lost sack of gold in a goblin town was as good as spent and gone. Without any money for zeppelin fare, he was stranded in Winterspring.

The only fortunate aspect of his situation was that in a town full of goblins always looking for someone else to do their dirty work, there was easy coin to be made. As a Vindicator who had fought terrible demons in the war on Draenor, he figured that chimera couldn't be any nastier, so the request from a goblin trapper to collect a few horns from their heads would probably be an easy one to accomplish.

It might have been, had Phaen not crossed paths in the snowy forest with a rabid, crazed furbolg nearly as tall as he was. He wouldn't have even ran into said furlbog had he not strayed from the main path into the denser trees for cover, as he had been unnerved by the sense of being watched as he was traveling down the road. The paladin had caught scant glances of something prowling through the trees behind him. He swore the creature had been blue and more feline like, not the large, awkwardly lumbering furbolg that had suddenly burst out from the trees to attack him.

And he might have escaped said furbolg had he been accompanied by his elekk. Yet upon going to fetch his mount that morning, the stable master informed him the large creature was ill, suffering from cold like symptoms. So he foolishly went on foot into the unfamiliar snowy wilds of Winterspring. And had gotten attacked.

One powerfully sweeping furry paw knocked right into his armored hand, slicing through the leather gloves covering his fingers. Their grip released his large hammer and the stunned draenei could not deflect the swiftly following blow that struck him right in the chest. Despite the thick plate that protected him, the wind was knocked from his lungs, the force leaving him stunned with dizziness. Phaen collapsed against the trunk of a tree, panting wearily as he watched the bear creature advance slowly upon him, beady eyes reddened with rage, mouth foaming with rancid, discolored spittle. The paladin was worn down from battling desperately against the hulking, unnaturally strong beast that's strength and ire were probably caused from the taint of fel magic. Driven back to a dangerously steep ledge that plummeted down to the icy hard ground below, Phaen fought to escape death from either the frenzied creature or probably deadly plunge.

"M-may the Light pro-!" the paladin exclaimed, resorting to conjuring up his naaru given blessings to shield himself from the furbolg's attack as it barreled forward. Yet the brutish, lumbering creature had a speed its size belied and before the Light could encase him in its shielding glow, the furbolg's jaws were closed around his forearm. Jagged, blade like teeth scraped against his plate gauntlet, and the deadly tips of a few slipped between its metal panels through the leather and cloth beneath into his flesh.

Phaen bellowed in agony and his free hand instinctively clamped down on the top of the furbolg's muzzle, fingers flaring with searing Light. The stench of burning flesh and fur was immediate and the furbolg wrenched his jaw from the paladin's arm with a deafening roar. The successful attack only gave him a moment's reprieve and instead of backing down, the beast shoved right into Phaen, sending them both toppling precariously close to the end of the ledge.

A brilliant flash of white light suddenly collided with the side of the furbolg's face just before a roar echoed through the clearing. Something that moved too fast to be identified knocked into the ursine beast's side in a blue and green blur. The furbolg emitted a high pitched shriek of fury, flailing in all directions with the brightly colored thing holding fast to it, snarling and growling and forcing it away from the paladin. With an uplifted sense of triumph, Phaen thought his "curse" was no more than unfortunate luck that was about to change.

Yet the furbolg blindly swept out its arm again and managed to connect a jarring blow right to Phaen's face, sending him reeling backward. His last conscious thought,as he tumbled off the edge of the cliff, was that he was right at first. It _was_ a curse. The worst one of all.

With a cry of terror that echoed across the snowy landscape, Phaen plummeted into the ground that shattered underneath him in sharp, freezing shards. What he thought was death came in the form of mind and body numbingly cold and it carried the dranei into its darkness in a frigid, suffocating embrace.

* * *

When Phaen's weary eyelids fluttered open, the first thing he saw was a blinding light. His sluggish mind was certain he was still dying if not dead. However, the weight of his arm across his eyes as he instinctively shielded his blurry vision from the bright aura was all too real. The rough dryness of his mouth was real too, as was the aching lethargy in every muscle and bone in his drained, tender body.

With a pained moan, he gingerly writhed in the blankets that swaddled him, blinking slowly to focus his eyes. The bright light was a lamp hanging from the roof of a tent, its canvas flaps waving faintly from the softly howling wind outside. How he had gotten into said tent—which had a deep royal purple interior that was strikingly familiar to his own travel tent—he had no idea. But, importantly, he was alive.

And not alone either, apparently. Phaen tried to sit up and it wasn't just his sore, bandaged forearm that prevented him from doing so. There was a weight at his side that had been pressing against his chest, and when he moved it stirred and inhaled sleepily through its nose with a quiet mewl. Lifting its head, covered in a mop of partially braided yellow-green hair, it blinked its glittering pink eyes up at the flabbergasted draenei. The troll woman that had been spooned against him—naked—yawned, curling her tongue between her tusks, and grinned drowsily.

"So..." Siku'dani purred in a thick, low voice of satiated pleasure and contentment. "Was it bein' good fo' you?"

With a scream that was quite unbecoming of and unexpected from an ex-Vindicator, Phaen scrambled from beneath her to his hooves with all of the grace of a drunken elekk. It was possibly the worst mistake he could and the draenei's head swam and his knees buckled from feverish wooziness. The jerky motions irritated the nausea that lurched in his stomach, and he flailed one hand out to steady himself on the post of the tent.

He didn't think to take the pelt he had been beneath with him and it wasn't until Siku'dani purred and lowered her eyes that he realized he too was stark naked. With an indignant squeak, he swiftly snatched up one of the pelts to hold protectively over his crotch.

"H-How did I get here?" the paladin cried, tail lashing angrily behind him, flushed face twisting in disgust. " W-what did you to do to me, troll?"

Chuckling throatily, Siku'dani rolled over onto her stomach, shamelessly baring her naked backside, and propped her head up on her knuckles. "Oh, lots of' t'ings," she cooed, winking sultrily. "But not bein' nearly as many as ya did tah me..."

Nearly choking on a gasped breath, Phaen released it in a pained whine that sounded like he was either about to get sick or start weeping. Or both. "Oh, merciful Light," he groaned, curling in on himself. He tried to stumble forward to what he thought was the front of the tent, but vertigo buckled his knees.

"Whoa, whoa, easy like, mon," Siku'dani said as she rose from the pelts quickly, going to the draenei's side to grasp his thick arm and steady him. "Ya need tah be bein' layin' back down."

Phaen couldn't help an incredulous snorted chuckle, though it was anything but amused. "Lay back down?" he barked at her. "W-why would I do that? I need to get out of here and get...away from—why am I naked?"

Siku'dani blinked as if the answer to that were obvious, then she giggled and batted her eyes. "Why ya be pondahrin'?"

The draenei's face took on a momentary mask of madness and he shook his head so hard it only made it hurt worse. "N-no, no! T-this couldn't—I couldn't have—y-you—" Snapping his gaze toward her, Phaen bared his teeth at her. "Y-you're lying! We did not have sex!"

Arching a brow smoothly, the troll's lips curve into a shrewd grin. "Oh? We didn'? Ya stone sure 'bout dat, mon? 'Cause ya be lookin' as well worn as I feel."

Swallowing thickly, Phaen's sweat dotted brow knitted over his eyes and he gnashed his teeth as another wave of intense queasiness struck him. "W-What I feel is...sick..." he moaned, swaying and leaning further against Siku'dani. With a growl, he pushed away from her, trying to steady himself on one knee. "If we did do anything you FORCED me into it! B-bewitched me or something! And I WHOLLY regret it! I feel...ugh...awful!"

"Oh, dat's from da foamin' pro'lly," Siku'dani said casually. "Er, I mean poison."

Head swiveling on his broad shoulders, Phaen balked at the troll. "P-poison! You poisoned me?"

Clucking her tongue, Siku'dani rolled her eyes and tugged at the draenei's arm. "Now what straightsome reason I got fo' bein' doin' somethin' like dat, luv?" she grunted, attempting to move his large bulk back towards the pelts.

"I wouldn't put it past you!" Phaen snapped defensively, weakly yanking back. "And what sort of person are you that'd you'd...do THAT with someone that was poisoned?"

Siku'dani's sharp teeth flashed in a wolfish grin. "What can I be waggin'? Mons at der weakes', all vulnerable like...it bein' _mah _weakness."

The draenei made another sound of frustration and abhorrence, wanting to throw himself from the tiny space he felt trapped in with the troll and out into the snow. Light be damned if he froze to death, for it'd be a better way to end than with the insufferable, crazy female.

Siku'dani scowled with an impatient huff and, using strength that belied her much smaller frame or was a testament to how drained he was, managed to pull Phaen back onto the bed roll. The draenei still tried to wriggle away from her, upsetting one of the wooden poles that was keeping their tent erect, his tail knocking into the heavy canvas tarp. "N-no! Cease this right now!" he croaked, feeling his feverish body begin to sweat even further, as if he were perspiring his very energy from his skin. "Don't touch me! I don't want your help!"

"Be quittin' yer heel diggin' and lay down, Fen!" she huffed impatiently, narrowing her rose pink eyes at him. "Ya onleh gonna be bein' wearin' yo'self t'in' and end up kickin' it 'cause o' dis poison, and I ain' lookin' forward tah diggin' a grave in da snow, which means I'd be mo' likely tah jus' set'cha on fiyah and I ain' got no matches eiddah, nor do I know da propah death rites fo' yo' people, which mean ya gonna be left real hinkeh like frozen and naked, so be bein' still!"

Something amid that near indecipherable rant clicked in Phaen's delirious mind, probably the last bit about being left for dead in the harsh cold of Winterspring. With much begrudging reluctance, the draenei let his body go lax and collapsed atop the bed roll on his back, pulling the pelts around his naked hips. "At lease give me my clothes," he panted in defeat.

"Dey bein' wet and dryin' on a line," Siku'dani answered, waiting until the draenei settled before crawling away from him. She plucked up a rumpled short tunic and pulled it over her head and down her slender hips, then walked in a crouch back to him. The troll placed the back of her hand to his forehead, ignoring the draenei's instinctive flinch. "Ya don' pondah straight like dat ya fell t'rough da ice aftah dat foamin' furbolg got'cha, eh?"

Trying to remember anything that occurred before he woke up next to the troll woman made Phaen's head hurt, but he tried all the same. "I-I do recall…being attacked," he murmured while Siku'dani moved away from him again to start rifling through her pack. "But something came at it. Then I fell, and-"

Frowning pensively, his eyes swept to Siku'dani again. "Wait. You saw that thing attack me? And you saw me fall? You must have been following me! Were you stalking me?"

Siku'dani looked over her shoulder at Phaen and grinned. "Is 'stalkin' ' annodah way of waggin' 'jumped intah da watah and risked mah own skin tah be bein' savin' ya ass'?"

The draenei balked, but had no retort for the troll's words. As much as he wanted to deny it, as much as he wanted another reason for his being alive to be plausible, there was nothing else but what was obviously the truth. How else would he have gotten out of the icy water? Siku'dani had saved him.

"Where are we now?" he demanded, avoiding any sort of recognition of said fact. "Why didn't you just take me back to Everlook?"

Siku'dani scratched her nose. " 'Cause ya was puttin' on da strain fo' mah arms, big t'ing datcha bein'."

The draenei scowled. "I was what?"

Pursing her lips with an irritated flare of her nostrils, the troll huffed through them. "I be grinnin' low-ah, I be sorreh, Fen. Mah waggin' bein' hinky-er, da way Shattahspear speak be differen' dan mos'." She made a dismissive wave with her hand, turning around on her rump with a small cloth pouch, an empty cup, and a water skin between her legs. "Ya was too heavy. Alla dat armah ya had on nearly drowned ya and I was strained huffin' aftah jus' pullin' ya out. Ya ain' all dat much lighta wit'out it, so I took ya to a grove we'd be safe in."

Siku'dani pinched small amounts of herbs from the pouch and sprinkled them into the cup. "Dat furbolg had da foamin' and it got in ya, and tah tell it to ya straight like, I ain' got da healin' skills tah get it outta ya. I need tah take ya tah Moonglade soon as possible. Da onleh one I know could _mebbe _help ya bein' der."

Phaen scowled and he felt the corner of his eye twitch. Moonglade was not only in the opposite direction of where he wanted to go, but he had no desire to travel anywhere with Siku'dani. "I'm not going to venture a journey that far for _maybe. _I can find a healer in Everlook," he replied stubbornly. "There has to be someone there who knows how to cure poison from a rabid animal. The goblins have to know some healing."

Snorting loud and unattractively, Siku'dani put the flat of her palm over the mouth of the cup tightly and began to shake it vigorously. "If ya pondah onna dem tricksy little sidewise green-skinned slip shirkin' dirt snufflahs _could _or _would _cure yo' ailment wit'out eiddah killin' ya in da process _or _takin' alla ya money and den kill ya, den ya be drafteh in da head, Fen, and I blame da fevah. And mos' o' da oddah mons dat probably would be willin' tah help ya hopped da wind on da zeppelin dat came in today dat was goin' somewhere or oddah everyone wanted tah be hoppin' to."

Wincing, Phaen rubbed his bandaged forearm. She had a point, and he doubted he had the money to afford what a goblin thought his life was worth. "How long was I unconscious?"

"Almos' two days, which is why we gotta get tah hoppin' da wind soon, or you jus' gonna get worse." Siku'dani wiped her wet palm on her tunic, then swirled the contents of the cup that had turned brown like a strong tea "We don' get da foamin' outta ya, Fen, and ya gonna die. Der be someone dat can be lendin' ya one in Moonglade," she concluded with finality.

Jaw set hard and teeth clenched, the draenei sighed a breath through his nose. He had no choice, or at least Siku'dani made it seem so. "How can we get that far if I can barely walk a few steps without stumbling?" Phaen groused.

The question made Siku'dani chuckle. "Wit'cho hinkeh tusked deer t'ing, o'course."

The paladin scowled. "You mean...my elekk? How did you know I even had one?"

"I saw ya wit him in da stables earlier," the troll replied matter-of-factly. "And seein' as how I figga'd we'd be havin' tah go to Moonglade fo' yo' ailment, I wen' back and got him fo' ya while ya was sawin'. He's outside teth'ahd to a tree. "

Phaen's eye twitched again involuntarily. Now he was certain the tent they were in was indeed his. "The stable master said he was sick." This was besides the fact the strange troll he knew nothing about—who had done Light knew what to him—had taken it upon herself to collect _his _elekk from the stables and use _his _tent, yet it was the first thing his fury-hazed and weary mind went to. That, and he wondered what other belongings she had helped herself to.

"Oh, he jus' had da sniffles, dat's all!" the troll added flippantly with a little smug grin. "Nothin' some liferoot an' sungrass couldn' take care of. He be fit an' huffin' strong like now. I even took him to where I pulled ya out da ice and hauled yo' armor back. M'afraid I couldn' fin' yo' hammah. I t'ink ya dropped in da ice watah." She smirked and extended the cup to him. "You should be t'ankin' me. Now sit up and swig on dis."

For all her audaciousness, lack of polite decorum or respect for the personal space and belongings of a stranger, and all around maddening oddities, Siku'dani _had _indeed saved him and he should thank her. Though Phaen still wasn't sure how her crimes against him—theft, kidnapping, and possibly rape—weighed against the benevolent act. With a sharp sigh through his nose, the draenei tapped his tail against his thigh in begrudging consideration. "Fine," was his brusque answer.

Pleased, Siku'dani waited until the draenei weakly leaned up on his forearms before handing him the herbal tea. It smelled as bitter as it tasted, and as the cool liquid slid down his throat Phaen wondered if the troll was only poisoning him further. Yet his rationale asked: if Siku'dani wanted to kill him, why hadn't she let him drown in the icy water or the poison consume his body?

Or a better question...

"Why are you helping me?" the paladin asked warily. "Why do you care for my life?"

A little blush colored Siku'dani's blue cheeks and she smiled almost coyly. " 'Cause I be pondahrin' ya eye easy," she replied with a girlish giggle. "And I ain' Horde, Fen, if dat's why ya surprised a troll would help a space goat."

His eye and mouth twitched. "Please refrain from using that...derogatory term!" he huffed irritably. "How would you like if I called you an...elekk mouthed lizard?"

Siku'dani seemed to like it just fine as she fell over in a fit of laughter. "I be pondahrin' dat's bein' pretteh funny actually, Fen," she replied when her amusement subsided enough to speak. "And I don' mean it wit no sorta disrespect or nothin'. Mah Orcish be po' as it is, and mah mouth and tongue jus' can' be waggin' da word yo' people use." Scrunching up her face, she made an honest attempt. "Dray...dray...uh...neee..."

If Siku'dani couldn't pronounce his name, he very seriously doubted she could manage "draenei". It sounded just as it was spelled, though Phaen wasn't even about to breach the topic of phonetics and foreign alphabets with a troll. "Just...call me...Fen," he grumbled, flopping back into the bed roll and putting his arm over his eyes. Maybe this was all a nightmare. Maybe the Light would take mercy on him and he'd wake up and be in his inn in Everlook.

Her pouty lips curving in a grin over her small tusks, Siku'dani slithered up against the draenei's side. "I raddah be likin' yo' name, Fen," she cooed.

Had he the strength, Phaen would have shoved the troll woman off him or gone scampering out of the bedroll again, but all he managed to do was tense up like a rodent under the hungry gaze of a cat. His silvery eyes were wide and he managed to croak indignantly, "What...what are you doing?"

The mop of curly chartreuse hair tickled his broad chest as Siku'dani curled close to him and it was with great dismay that he realized how femininely shaped and curvy she was. The troll being a femalewas not something Phaen had paid attention to. Or wanted to. Not when he was naked and she scantly clad, pasted against him.

"Ya don'' really pondah I'd be tryin' tah do nasteh, hinkeh t'ings to ya while ya ailin', do ya, Fen?" she giggled, putting her arms around his thick trunk of a torso and throwing a leg around his. "Ya still got da hot-cold shakes from fallin' t'rough dat ice. Da same happened tah onna mah younga broddahs, and our muuka said ya gotta use ya heat tah get dey heat back hot."

He had suffered hypothermia, Phaen supposed she meant, which would explain why they had been in the bed roll naked together. It was a much more digestible reason than his previous fear and Siku'dani's insinuations. "Light give me strength..." he muttered, his voice feeling thick and his mind swooning with weariness that layered over him like a heavy blanket. Siku'dani was warm and her body was as soft as the pelts that covered them. The Prophet help him, why was he thinking about that?

"I'll have ya be knowin' der be many a mon who would love tah be undah da furs wit me naked," the troll chuckled. Her voice was muffled and far away in the paladin's ears. "Now, ya jus' let dat tea do what it needs and get back ta sawing'..."

Phaen said something, but his own words were inaudible. Whatever they were, they made Siku'dani chuckle. She felt much furrier, softer, and warmer against him, and her melodic, feminine laugh further lulled the paladin into a deep, drug-induced sleep.

* * *

Phaen awoke the next morning feeling comparatively energized. His muscles were still weak and his limbs a bit shaky, but at least he had the means to stand and walk. There was no way he could do so under the weight of armor, however; his leather tunic and pants and the cloth garments he had worn beneath his plate were all he could manage to put on. They were stiff, cold, and uncomfortable, but at least they were dry and kept him warm under his thick wool and fur cloak.

Just as Siku'dani had told him, his elekk was tethered in a small grove of trees adjacent to their campsite, saddled with his bundled armor secured on its back. Phaen didn't know how she had managed to get a mount that wasn't even hers out of the stables. With the right amount of coin, however, it probably hadn't been too hard considering the stable master was a goblin.

While Phaen ate a simple breakfast of jerky and some sort of bitter fruit the troll woman had forced upon him, Siku'dani took down his tent and packed it on to the elephantine animal's back. Thankfully, she wasn't very talkative, though she did hum merrily. There was even a constant, dance-like sway in her step. It annoyed Phaen to see someone so unwaveringly bubbly with no particular reason to be.

By mid morning they were traveling the path leading west away from Everlook. Phaen did not know the wintry land of Winterspring well and had traveled there by way of zeppelin from Ratchet. Siku'dani seemed to know the region and the way to Moonglade well, so he begrudgingly let the troll direct him as he steered his elekk accordingly. The journey was only a little over a quarter of a day. A tolerable amount of time to be stuck with his rescuer, he thought. Yet when she claimed they could gain passage to the secluded forest haven through a cave inhabited by furbolgs, Phaen was beginning to doubt how wise he had been to trust her.

"Don'cha be getting' draften now, Fen, dey bein' real sweet like nice mons!" the Shatterspear troll said nonchalantly. "Siku'dani know dem well! All Shattahspears do! We got good relations wit da Timbamaw and use der caves pretteh often."

The twitch that was uncontrollable and as annoyingly persistent as his companion returned to his face and Phaen growled softly. He had heard of the dark, twisting corridors of Timbermaw Hold that were the only travelable path into Moonglade. The paladin had intentionally avoided going through furbolg territory for a reason, and now he would be descending into their very den. A myriad of potential misfortunes were born from Phaen's paranoia. What if there were trolls or furbolgs inside waiting to ambush him, rob him, and do Light knew what with him before they killed him? Trolls were notorious tricksters and even rumored cannibals. His delirious imagination conjured images of him trussed up like a Winter Veil bird, marinated in butter and herbs hanging above a roaring fire while Siku'dani, her kin, and the bear men cackled hungrily around him.

"Ya be huffin', Fen?" Siku'dani asked, leaning over his shoulder, disturbing him from his thoughts. "We can be parkin' it' if ya wan'."

Phaen was "huffing", but did not want to delay their arrival to Moonglade. He could persist through his lethargy if it meant being rid of the troll. "I'll be fine," he replied in as strong a voice as he could muster. "You said that time was vital, yes? Then we need to get there as soon as possible."

The troll nodded and to the paladin's dismay kept her chin on his broad shoulders. "Well, alrigh', if ya sure." Siku'dani canted her head to look at him as best as she could. "Ya ain' bein' wit' da loose waggin', are ya, Fen?"

The breath on his ear made him cringe and his jaw tightened. "What?"

Siku'dani chuckled. "Sorreh. I keep fo'gettin' mah words ain' so easy. Waggin' mean talkin'. Ya ain' da talkin' type."

"Oh." He grunted and shrugged moodily, tense under her touch. He wished he were wearing his armor. He felt naked and even more vulnerable in his sickly state without it. Especially without his hammer. Its loss made a deep, sickening pang of regret sting at his gut. "Not particularly. And I don't think you and I have much to talk about."

The female clucked her tongue and hummed. "Straight like, ya don' t'ink much of me do ya, Fen?"

The blunt words stunned Phaen despite their truth and he felt his cheeks color. "As a member of the Alliance, it is difficult for me to...think much of any member of the Horde," he replied carefully, surprised with how awkward it was to say that to the troll.

Siku'dani huffed out a long sigh. "Ya musta been feverish when I been waggin' I wasn' of da Horde da oddah night," she replied. "M'bein' Shattahspear, not Darkspear. Dey may be bein' our kin, but s'been a long while since we been one tribe." The troll grinned and Phaen felt her touch one of the tendrils at his jaw. "Not all trolls be bein' of da Horde, ya know."

He flicked the tentacle irritably away from her hand. "Forgive my assumption," he snorted.

She giggled a youthful laugh and continued to lean against his back. "Yo' nose wrinkles when I be waggin' witcha, like mah breath bein' havin' da wiffs o' dung. Ya musta had a bad run in wit a troll befo'."

Phaen large body tensed and his silvery eyes widened. "W-why would you assume that?" he stammered.

The troll's lips curled back from her sharp teeth in a knowing smirk. "Ooooh, so I got it straight like, eh? Ya got a personal vendetta 'gainst mah people 'cause onna us did'ja wrong." She fingered one of the tendrils on his chin and leaned toward his ear again. "What happened?"

"Stop that!" Phaen barked, jerking his head away, face flushing hotly. "Have you no sense of personal space! Those are...sensitive!"

Siku'dani blinked down at the quivering tentacle before her face became wolfish. "So, ya gonna be spillin' on what made ya so bittah toward trolls?" she purred, nipping gently at the ringed appendage.

"Ack!" Phaen shrieked, jumping with a start in the elekk's saddle as a shudder rolled up his spine. "I said STOP! That is highly inappropriate!"

"I'll stop when ya be spillin'," she sang in his ear, barely missing another nibble at the tendril as Phaen ducked and dodged her advances.

Just trying to avoid Siku'dani's playfully snapping teeth was enough to diminish his already waning energy and he knew she would not relent. His elekk trumpeted in annoyance beneath them. "A-alright, fine!" he barked, hunching forward with his head lowered between his broad shoulders. His face burned even hotter with added embarrassment. "I was harassed in Booty Bay by a troll recently. There!"

Siku'dani's interest would not be assuaged so easily. "Harassed? How come?" she inquired, finally sitting still behind him. "Ya do somethin' to 'em?"

Phaen snorted indignantly. "I didn't do anything to him at all. He just...accosted me out of no where!"

Pursing her lips, the troll hummed behind him. "I pondah dem goblin towns don' tolerate dat kinda t'ing. At leas', dat's how Evahlook is. An' you a pretteh strappin' big mon, Fen. Not da sorta target fo' pick-pocketin' or general harassin'. Mos' trolls don' do such t'ings. We like tah avoid unnecessary conflicts." She looked over his shoulder again. "He have a reason tah pick a figh' wit'cha?"

His own mouth tightening into a thin line, Phaen's eyes lowered. "I...did something that was less than honorable," he replied, though as the words left his lips he wondered why he was divulging something he had spoken about to no one.

"What'cha been doin'?"

The paladin hesitated for a long moment before he sighed. "I tried to force myself upon a female. A whore, but...a female nonetheless. He saw us and felt the need to step in and defend her."

Despite his dislike of Siku'dani, Phaen felt shame burn inside him with having to confess what he had done. The indignity only grew when the troll was quiet for a pregnant stretch of silence behind him before she grunted. "Well, I pondah straight like dat mon had a reason den," she snickered, putting her chin back on his shoulder. Her lips curved into a soft smile. "In yo' defense, ya don' be seemin' like da slimy slick sort dat do dat kinda t'ing."

Surprised, Phaen felt an appreciation for the comment. "Thank you for saying so," he replied earnestly. He sighed through his nose and shook his head. "And I am not the sort at all. I had been under the influence of drink that night and...had not been myself lately. I am deeply ashamed for my actions."

He felt Siku'dani's fingers move against his stomach lightly as they re-tightened their hold around his thick torso. "So, why did'ja do it den? What had ya feelin' so dark dat ya'd be t'ink'in' of touchin' a fen'di like dat?"

The draenei scowled and shook his head. "It is nothing that I need to share with you," he grumbled. "Nor anything that you'd probably want to hear. Just self-pity and selfishness."

"Bein' dat I asked, ya can assume dat I'd wanna be catchin' it." Siku'dani squeezed him around his torso encouragingly. "If ya wan'. I won' pestah ya 'bout dat."

Phaen snorted, unable to believe that she wouldn't, but Siku'dani fell silent behind him. Chewing his lower lip, the paladin's tongue strained in his mouth.

"I have felt...lost as of late. Without purpose, even," he admitted regretfully, though he felt a small lightness inside him once the words were out. "I was a Vindicator of Shattrath, the holy capital of my people on our home planet. I fought against the orcs on Draenor, and later the Burning Legion when our leaders decided to aid the Alliance in their campaign against them. I have always been respected. I have held high ranks among the Vindicators I have both led and fought beside."

His heavy brows knitted over his glowing eyes and Phaen scowled. "I made a grave error in judgment on a campaign and was discharged from the battalion I was leading. Honorably, but discharged all the same. I was in the Exodar, forced to sit idle, while my comrades, the Alliance, and the Horde brought down the demon Illidan and his generals. They earned glory and honor, defeating the evil that had been responsible for our people's near genocide, while I could do nothing."

The draenei's body was tense against Siku'dani and his fingers clenched around the straps of his elekk's bridle until his knuckles cracked. Just recalling how excluded, shamed, and weak he had felt in the presence of his triumphant peers filled him with anger.

The troll's fingers were gentle on his hands and Phaen started from the sudden touch. "Der always gwonna be bein' wars tah fight, Fen," Siku'dani murmured behind him and he turned to see her bright pale pink eyes staring at him over his shoulder. "If on bein' da battlefield is where ya be findin' ya honah, den m'stone sure ya will have da chance again."

"It's not _just_ about fighting," Phaen growled at her, immediately regretting his tone. He sighed and dipped his head. "The Legion and the orcs sought my people's genocide and nearly accomplished it. I find pride and honor in knowing I can help rise us from our ashes and grief. I am a Vindicator, a warrior."

Phaen trailed off and glanced into the pale white-blue sky from which snow flurries slowly fell. "But I am not the man that I once was, and I cannot pretend to be. My superiors knew that, as did my comrades. I had been...changing. I do not know who I am or what I can do anymore."

While the paladin fell quiet and reflective, staring into the sky, the wind tossing strands of his dark hair, Siku'dani stared at him, eyes blinking slowly, white flurries stuck to her eyelashes. "Mmm," she hummed after a moment, clucking her tongue. "Sounds like ya need to be findin' yaself den, mon."

She wriggled behind him to get comfortable in the saddle. "I crossed pat's wit' annodah one of yo' kind once. In Felwood. A fen'di. She was lookin' tah be guided t'rough and been lendin' her one. We had a long time tah be crackin' rocks – ah, ta be talkin' dat is - an' it was da firs' time I been catchin' word of yo' people and dey plights and all what was goin' on 'cross da skies in dat oddah place. If da Legion been defeated der, and yo' people got a bit of peace, den, dat's good regardless, righ'? And even d'ough ya wasn' der at da end, ya still helped dem get der all da same."

Phaen grunted with a nod. "Yes, that is true, and I have told myself that many times." His smile was wry as he looked back at Siku'dani. "I told you, it was self-pitying and selfish."

Siku'dani snickered and grinned back at him. "Truth, mon. But, ya pondah dat it bein' slickah pullin' dan pushin."

He had almost forgotten his companion's vexing speech and Phaen scowled faintly. "What?"

Sighing through her nose, Siku'dani's face scrunched up thoughtfully. "Ya can' be helpin' anyone else befo' ya help yaself, yanno," she reinterpreted. "S'like tryna pull someone up intah a tree while ya tryna climb it yaself. Ya can' do it, or ya can, but it'll be hard on ya 'cause ya ain' helped yaself yet."

The troll smiled behind Phaen. "We Shattahspear got an easy way of livin'. We don' concern ourselves wit da wars and claimin' dis factions or dat and alla dat e'chuta. We take care of our own and we keep to ourselves. I undahstand dat's not da way of yo' people and why. Da plight of da ancestors we and da Darkspear share was much da same. And dat's why we Shattahspear got a sense of self preservation dat bein' impo'tant to us. Can' bein' good tah oddahs if ya ain' good tah yaslef firs'."

The troll's words were a little convoluted, but there was a point there that Phaen did grasp. "I am...not sure how to do that..." he murmured with some bashfulness.

"Well, bes' t'ing to do is tah not be pondahrin' on it so hard like," Siku'dani chortled. "Ya don' haftah fight, so why not jus' be enjoyin' some peace fo' a change? G'won back to wherevah ya call home an' relax. Find anoddah way to help yo' people dat don' involve swingin' dat big ol' hammah 'round."

Phaen's brief snicker was dry. "I don't even have a hammer to swing anymore," he said bitterly, and the longing for the old weapon made him sigh. "It was given to me by the one that trained me. Though I may not have much use for it as of late, I should like to have it back. Perhaps there is a way to reclaim it from that icy river.

"Not unless ya wanna get da hot-cold shivahs again mon," Siku'dani said. Her hand patted Phaen's stomach gently and the draenei did not recoil or flinch. "Jus' take it as a sign from yo' gods or Light or whatevah dat ya don' need it anymo' and move on."

His nose wrinkling thoughtful, Phaen considered the option. He certainly had the opportunity to retire, if just temporarily, as a warrior. And the Exodar was always in need of aid with reconstruction. Or perhaps he could even return to Shattrath to pursue a role as a Peacekeeper.

Thinking about it was still stressful and made his head ache, though he did feel a large portion of his worry's weight lift from his spirit. Glancing back at Siku'dani, Phaen's lips quirked into a smile. "I will keep that in mind," he told her, and meant it. "Thank you...for listening."

Siku'dani's smile was just as genuine and she gave the draenei a rib cracking hug from behind. "See? We ain' so asp sharp," she giggled.

Teeth clenched as he grunted in discomfort, Phaen's brows furrowed over his narrowed glowing eyes. "No...I suppose...not," he grumbled. "Now...please...my lungs..."

"Ah, I be grinnin' low," the troll chuckled softly, loosening her grip around him and contentedly leaning her chin on his shoulder.

Snorting, Phaen rolled his eyes at the expression, then arched his brow in curiosity. "Grinning low. That means...to frown, yes?" he ventured a guess at interpreting her odd speech. "So...'you're sorry'?"

Delightedly amused, Siku'dani giggled youthfully behind the draenei. "Der, ya getting' it! Dough actually it be meanin' more like dis face" She made a sheepish, apologetic smile, lowering her eyes and then giggled again, perking back up and exclaiming excitedly, "I could teach ya some Shattahspear tongue on da way tah Moonglade, if ya wan'!"

Purring, her fingers rubbed up and down his broad chest suggestively. "I be real honey-sweet, Fen, when ya get tah know me..."

Phaen's lukewarm like of Siku'dani wasn't enough to keep his eye from wincing involuntarily. "I think keeping our...temporary companionship casual is more than sufficient," he huffed.

The troll troll chuckled huskily, leaning her head against his shoulder blade. "Ya bein' so sexeh when ya aloof, Fen," she cooed.

Briefly, Phaen smirked to himself and shook his head, falling quiet for a long moment and thinking on something Siku'dani had mentioned previously. "You said...that the Darkspears endured a history similar to ours, yes? What did you mean?"

Lifting her head, Siku'dani arched a brow, then smirked faintly. "Very similah. Mo' so dan ya would be pondahrin'." She waved a hand dismissively. "S'nothin' ya would wanna hear."

The paladin grinned as his own words were thrown back at him. "If I inquired, you can assume I would not mind being told," he countered.

The Shatterspear troll chuckled. "Fair enough, den, if ya insist. I'll try not tah be waggin' fo' too long."

Phaen chuckled and sighed heavily, resigned to probably having invited Siku to talk for the remainder of their trip. What else did they have to do? "Well, go ahead and...wag all you want."

* * *

By mid afternoon, after navigating through the dank, dark caves of Timbermaw Hold and traveling the ancient paths of the tranquil, lush forests of Moonglade, Siku'dani and Phaen reached the Kaldorei city of Nighthaven. It was with great relief that the paladin brought his elekk to a halt at a small home on the outskirts of the village's borders. The sickness caused by his infection had gradually reduced his energy to nothing over the course of their journey. His fever had returned and the draenei's flushed face was dotted with sweat.

Phaen brushed his limp brown hair from his moist forehead and slumped forward in the saddle of his elekk. "Thank the Light..." he panted wearily.

Siku'dani patted the draenei's arm before swiftly sliding down from the beast's back. "Don'cha worry, Fen," she told him with a gentle smile. "Stay righ' here."

The troll trotted swiftly up the short dirt path to the house's front. "Kym! Kym, ya bein' in? Ya parkin' it?" she shouted, bounding up the porch and banging loudly on the door. "Kym!"

It only took a moment of knocking before the door swung open and a gray furred, agitated looking tauren woman in druid's garb stepped out on to the porch. "By Cenarius' antlers, Siku'dani, why do you have to yell?" she demanded with her hands on her hips. "Haven't you got someone else to beg and harass besides me?"

Siku'dani grinned, unbothered by the tauren's anger. "Ain' here tah ask anythin' fo' mahself, Kym," she replied.

Kym snorted and folded her arms. "Hard to believe," she said flatly.

"I got a mon who bein' afflicted by da foamin'," she said, pointing behind her to the sickly looking draenei nearly about to fall off the elekk. "I ain' got da skills tah cure him, straight like."

Her narrowed brown eyes flicking up to Phaen, then down to Siku'dani, then to the draenei again, Kym sighed through her nose and strode quickly off the porch. "Of course you don't. You really do need to focus on your training more, Siku," the tauren grumbled as she approached Phaen with the troll trotting at her side. "Well help me get him down and into the house. By the Earthmother, he looks like he is a breath away from death."

Phaen was limp and pliant in the two females' arms and they managed to pull him off the elekk's back and help him into the tauren druid's small home. Being stripped of his clothes and urged into a soft bed became the best thing Phaen had ever felt.

"I thank you sincerely for your help," he huffed weakly, mind swooning toward unconsciousness. "You have my eternal gratitude."

Grunting softly, Kym seated herself in a chair at his bedside, hands glowing faint green as they waved over his body. "You are welcome, but if anything I should be apologizing for Siku'dani's inability to do this herself," she grumbled, shooting the troll a stern look. "You're badly infected, but only because you've gone so long with the infection in your body. It's nothing serious though. You just need a healing session, some food, and rest."

Another annoyed glare directed at the troll made Siku'dani sigh. "M'grinnin' low, Kym," she huffed exaggeratedly like a child scolded, rolling her eyes. Her rose-pink eyes returned to Phaen and she smiled at him. "Kym's onna da bes' healahs in Nighthaven."

The paladin managed a weak smile as he sighed, already feeling the magic's cure. "Thank you...very much...Siku'dani," he managed to murmur. "I...truly mean that."

Siku'dani's gaze was as soft as Phaen's, and she nodded. "Ya welcome, Fen," she replied quietly as he slipped into unconsciousness and his head lolled to the side. The troll swept his long brown hair away from his face gently, remaining silent and watching him sleep as Kym worked.

When she was finally done, the druid sighed and sat back on her haunches. "He'll be fine and ready to be on his way tomorrow afternoon," she said, then arched a brow at Siku'dani. "So. What did you do to this one?"

Pursing her lips and narrowing her eyes, Siku'dani clucked her tongue, still combing her fingers through Phaen's long hair. "I swear, dis poisonin' wasn' bein' mah fault," she said defensively. "I got morals, yanno. I don' get mons kicked off unnecessarily."

Kym grunted and rolled her eyes, unwrapping the dirty bandages from Phaen's forearm to inspect his wound. "You're a con-artist and a thief, you have no scruples, and I hate being a part of your ploys." The druid stood with a grunt and crossed the room to a shelf of medicinal herbs and bandages. "So I suppose now that you got a ride back here out of him, you'll be leaving soon with all of his gold and belongings then?"

Siku'dani moodily folded her arms, her eyes remaining on Phaen. "Dat was bein' mah plan, but...no. I already been sellin' his hammah in Evahlook and snatched his gold pouch, an' I feel bad enough 'bout dat."

The tauren laughed dryly, pouring powdered herbs into a bowl. "Not bad enough to return his money, I'm sure."

The troll scowled. "An' how ya know dat straight like?"

Kym only looked at Siku'dani with a wry smirk before returning her attention to the herbs. The other female huffed before laying her head in the crook of her arms and gazing at Phaen. "I pondahed wrong abou' him," she murmured softly, fingering a lock of his hair. "He had da look of deservin' it, and I t'ought he did...but...I was wrong."

Blending a paste of medicinal herbs and water in her bowl with a spoon, Kym walked back to the bed and returned to her chair. Her brown eyes studied the troll's face curiously before she sighed through her nose. "Shan'do Starblaze would be ashamed. You really are a terrible healer," she murmured, her tone softer and less chastising. She smiled faintly at Siku'dani and patted her shoulder. "He'll be fine. Now move so I can tend to his wound."

The troll stood from her crouch and gave the draenei one last lingering look before stepping away so Kym could begin the process of cleaning the angry red bite on his forearm. She walked around the foot of the bed and sat down with her back against the wooden frame. There was a brief swirl of light and smoke and in the spot where Siku'dani had been, a large blue stripped cat with yellow-green hair that trailed down his back sprawled out with a sleepy yawn around its tusks, curled up, and closed its eyes.

* * *

Just as the tauren Kym had said, by the following afternoon, the sickness that afflicted Phaen was gone and his strength was returning to him. The druid's gracious offer of healing, food, and lodging was greatly appreciated, but the paladin did not want to wear out his welcome. Feeling well enough to make the short journey back to Winterspring, Phaen thanked Kym once more and left.

He had been a little surprised that Siku'dani was not there when he awoke that morning, and even disappointed when Kym said she had probably already left for Shatterspear Village. So he was not expecting to see the green haired troll walking up the main road just outside of Nighthaven.

Going the opposite direction back into the village, the troll saw his approach from a distance and lopped up meet him with a grin on her face. "Hopin' da wind already, Fen?" she called out when they were within earshot of each other. "An' I was jus' shakin' ovah tah see how ya was doin'."

Bringing his elekk to a halt, Phaen smiled down at Siku'dani. "Ah, yes, I must be getting back," he replied. "The zeppelin to the Azuremyst Isles will be arriving in Everlook soon and I cannot miss it. Besides, many of my belongings are still in my room at the inn." He chuckled and patted the coin purse hanging from the belt at his hip. "Which I still must pay for. Luckily I found my lost coin bag on my elekk."

Siku'dani laughed as well. "Dat bein' a good t'ing indeed." Her expression softened and she chewed her lower lip. "Der's a pretteh good weapons vendah in Evahlook. Ya should be goin' der when ya get back an' get somethin' propah tah defend yaself wit. Or ya'll be makin' a po' excuse fo' a Vindicator."

Phaen chuckled, warmed by the troll's concern. "I will do so then." Clearing his throat and flushing softly, Phaen lowered his head. "I...wanted to apologize, Siku'dani. For...speaking to and treating you as I did. My prejudice against you was wrong, and I am shamed by it."

The troll blinked at the apology and her own cheeks reddened as she smiled bashfully. "Ah, Fen, s'irie," she replied with a wave of her hand. "Wouldn' be da firs' time dat happened tah me. And it weren' bad at all, in da end. I got tah spend some time wit a handsome mon. And...I t'ink we both had oursevles an enlightenin' experience, yeah?"

The draenei smiled and nodded. "Indeed, we did. Do you need a ride somewhere?"

Siku'dani shook her head. "Nah. I was gonna go back tah Shattahspear, but I t'ink I'll be parkin' it here fo' a bit. Kym say I need work wit mah healin', and I haftah agree wit her. Oh!" Reaching into the satchel at her waist, the troll dug through it and produced a strand of beads and bones, which she approached Phaen's elekk to hand to him. "Here, ya will need dis when ya goin' back t'rough da tunnels. Give it to onna dem Timbahmaw mons and dey'll let'cha t'rough."

Blinking at the proffered necklace, Phaen met the troll's pink gaze and stared at her for a brief moment. "Ah, thank you very much," he said with a bashful smile. "Thank you again, for all that you have done for me. I will not forget your kindness or its lessons. May the Light embrace you. Perhaps we shall see each other again, Siku'dani."

Siku'dani grinned and hooded her pink eyes, brushing her fingers against his before drawing back. "I'd be all ohs if we did." She blew him a kiss and winked cheekily. "Spirits be wit'cha, Fen."

The paladin chuckled, shaking his head in exasperation before turning his elekk away and urging it down Moonglade's serene path. He fingered the beads clutched in his hand, smiling to himself, sure in his decision that Siku'dani had been right. A long reprieve was just what he needed.

Siku'dani watched Phaen and his large elekk lumber down the road until they were out of sight. "Spit slick fates," she sighed before chuckling to herself. "Da spirits bein' havin' da chuckles wit' me, hey?"

The druid smirked softly and, shifting into a nimble, stripped cat, sprinted toward Nighthaven.

* * *

A/N: This story is one of my favorites because it's based on a premise I came up with about the same time I was conceptualizing Sirens of Azeroth. It had nothing to do with Phaen or anyone in the SoA universe, however, and was about two shamans-a male draenei and a female troll-who get stuck together in Felwood after being poisoned and must travel to Moonglade for a cure. The idea was one that amused and interested me, being that draenei and trolls share many similarities in their cultures and histories, though vastly different races, but never became anything beyond an idea. When I began brainstorming Phaen's side story, I knew that this revisted premise would be perfect.

The Shatterspear dialect that Siku'dani speaks was created by my good friend, Marty1, an awesome writer on FanFiction. She developed it for use in her story "Middle Distance", a tale about a Shatterspear shaman and his travels with a Darkspear hunter. I fell in love with her very smart and well developed interpretation of Shatterspear linguistics and slang. If you don't know about Shatterspear trolls, look them up on WoWwiki. They are an actual in game tribe of trolls who live in a secluded area near Darkshore that is almost inaccessible. In Cataclysm, however, their village will become accessible to the Horde, as it is rumored that they will join the faction. Not only that, but their proximity to night elves suggests that it is the Shatterspear trolls who first learn druidism. Hence why Siku'dani is a druid.

Marty created a very extensive Shatterspear vocabulary. Here are a few phrases used in the story and their translations:

_Waggin' = to talk/talking_

_Crackin' rocks = to have a conversation with someone_

_This side of the line = "That's alright.", as in something is okay/acceptable_

_Grinnin' low = to be apologetic and/or sheepish_

_hinky = odd, weird, wrong_

_ponderin' = thinking_

_asp sharp = mean or angry_

_lendin' one = to help_

_parkin' it = to stay; If used as a question, "Are you there?"_

_fen'di = woman/girl (This is actually a general Zandali word Marty, myself, and others developed)_

And now you know what happened to Phaen after he left Booty Bay.


	3. Ain't No Rest for the Wicked

**Ain't No Rest for the Wicked**

...in which Bauhzer and Belladonna handle a little problem

The tent was hot. Humid even, like the dense jungles that bordered Booty Bay. Yet instead of smelling like earthy, wet soil, verdant foliage, and blossoming flowers, the interior of the giant structure made of red and violet canvas had a very different odor. Anyone who found the tent bearing the proudly waving banners emblazoned with a red rose across the emblem of the Steamwheedle Cartel—an easy feat, as it stuck out like a sore, crimson thumb, rising as high as the wooden, planked buildings of the port city—could smell a hint of its aroma even from a short distance away. It was an alluring, curious scent that coaxed many to the luxuriously draped doorway of the festive pavilion. The sounds of jovial celebration heard within were only more inviting and, for the right amount of coin, anyone could purchase their way in. And inside the tent, they would find the air to be thick with the smell of booze, seared meats, spices, a variety of perfumes and colognes, body musk, and pure, wanton arousal.

It smelled like a damn good time, and it certainly was.

Bauhzer Silverfist inhaled that scent slowly and added to it a cloud of pungent, smooth cigar smoke that smelled as peppery as it tasted. It was a damn good cigar, made with strong tobacco mixed with plants that were probably lethally-spicy in flavor in their original form, imported, and sold in Booty Bay by Dread Corsair pirates. His wife had bought him a whole crate as a gift. She was such a sweetheart.

The goblin pushed his hand between the parted flaps of the canvas tent and tapped the ash from the end of the cigar on the ground outside before settling further against the large post behind him. His single, pale blue eye swept listlessly and without much regard for the scene of decadent indulgence around him: a tent filled with men—and even some women—in the company of the Red Thorns, gambling, eating, drinking, smoking, laughing, and looking like they were about three words away from a bedroom or dark corner.

At least, that's how he intended to appear.

No one paid much attention to any of the bruisers littered among the tent's patrons and its entertainers. Only four of them had been assigned to the interior to ensure none of the patrons had too much fun or got out of hand. They even looked as bored as the one-eyed bald goblin. Yet anyone that had attended a Red Thorns event knew well of the efficiency of their guards. There had only been a few incidents that required the bruisers to step in and forcefully show a patron out, even comparatively to how long the Red Thorns had been operating as Azeroth's most successful (and perhaps only) traveling harem. Those that had witnessed such disruptions and how swiftly and zealously the bruisers handled them knew that if one wanted to have a good time with the Red Thorns and leave that night or the next morning without any broken limbs, black eyes, or missing teeth, all you had to do was follow the two golden rules: pay up front and play nice.

Playing nice meant much more than being polite to the courtesans and not starting fights with the other patrons. It meant respecting the establishment, its employees, owners, and the organization that was its benefactor: the Steamwheedle Cartel. While most patrons were content to behave, feeling fortunate they could afford to be in the presence of such extravagant beauty and indulgence, a few thought that just because they paid their way in, didn't skimp out on their tabs, and treated the ladies nice, no one would detect if they had alternative, more underhanded motives in mind.

Like Josua Fletcher. Bauhzer's single-eyed gaze swiveled to the red-haired, bearded human sitting oh-so-inconspicuously on a couch in the rear corner of the tent. He wore clothes that were almost too plain and surreptitiously enjoyed himself with the blood elf perched in his lap, laughing and playfully groping her in between tosses of the dice with the other patrons around the betting table. The man had been a regular for the past three weeks, ever since the ship _Red Rose_had docked in Booty Bay and advertised the return of the infamous Red Thorns to their home port. It wasn't at all out of the ordinary, as he certainly wasn't the only man who had spent his earnings nearly every night in the gilded tent. Josua Fletcher looked as commonplace as any other redheaded, bearded man looking to have a good time.

Unknown to him, that didn't mean that he wasn't being watched and scrutinized every moment by skillfully concealed gazes belonging to painted, dazzling eyes that fluttered sweetly, lowered coyly, or smoldered lasciviously. The Red Thorns, as well as their owner and those that protected them like Bauhzer, did not take their well-being lightly. They had found out, through careful, casual conversation, keen listening, and the patient coaxing of information from loose lips, much about Josua Fletcher. He was from Westfall, trained as a rogue belonging to the Defias Brotherhood, and had been inquiring about the whereabouts of the Red Thorns just a few days before the _Red Rose_docked.

And, he was a spy.

The man was with Merle tonight, which did not happen just because the pretty, dark skinned, and full-chested Sin'dorei happened to catch his eye. It was not chance that Merle invited him to a more private portion of the tent where she could hoard him from the other courtesans. Nor was the continued delivery of wine directly to the human, who drank greedily of it as Merle assured him it on the house and always made sure his cup was full.

And when the wine was gone and Josua Fletcher, red faced with a sheen of sweat on his brow, said he needed some air and wobbly stood to stumble through the tent, Merle was at his heels and Bauhzer was watching them both. The human didn't notice, probably too distracted by the sudden wave of lightheaded nausea he was experiencing that seemed too strong for standard inebriation and the sultry promises Merle purred into his ear as she draped against his side.

Behind the human, Merle turned her head just before disappearing into the sheer drapes that served as the door of the tent. Her glowing arcane gaze found the goblin's and she smirked with a wink and was gone.

The bruiser waited exactly three minutes, as he had said he would, before stubbing out his cigar and putting the butt back between his sharp teeth. "Here we go," Bauhzer grunted to himself with a faint grin and moved with silent strides toward the front of the tent. He looked once to his left and right to meet stares with two of the other bouncers before passing through the curtained entrance.

The cool sea wind whistling through Booty Bay's wooden alleys and corridors was refreshing, caressing Bauhzer's hard, wrinkled face, partially bare chest, and arms with a lover's gentleness. He enjoyed it for the briefest of moments, closing his eyes and answering the air's low moan with a sigh before beginning his walk. His destination wasn't far, and it would be exactly five minutes since Josua Fletcher and Merle left the tent when he reached it. Plenty of time, he was certain.

As he approached the mid-point of Dock No. 5, empty of any vessels as its last ship had cast off just an hour after dusk, Bauhzer could hear heady voices and the rustle of clothes being shed muffled by the wind and the rhythmic lapping of the water under the pier. Josua Fletcher's bottom half, with his breeches gathered around his ankles, and his bare, lily white ass arched in the air, framed by Merle's long, slender brown legs, was peeking from around the wall of a buoy shed. Bauhzer had to hold in a snicker. He had told the blood elf to be discrete. Anyone looking out over the docks that night could probably see the moonlight reflecting off the human's pallid backside like the mirrors of a lighthouse.

Without his large hammer strapped to his back, the burly bruiser moved with a slinky stealth that his large, barrel-chested form belied. His footsteps on the old planks of the pier made them squeak no more than the wind did and he held his breath as he crept slowly down the stairs of the dock toward the shed. Merle was in rare form tonight, moaning and purring with all of the zeal of a drunken woman ready to be ravished, and loud enough that Josua Fletcher wouldn't hear the goblin prowling toward them.

The shadow of the shed fell over Bauhzer and he waited until Merle let out a string of lewd, high-pitched gasps before he put a hand behind his back to slip his fingers into the brass knuckles at his belt, curl the digits around them tightly and draw his closed fist forward with only the softest hiss of metal against the leather of his vest. He was so close he could smell the musk rising off the human's body and see the engraving on the hilt of the sheathed dagger hanging on Josua Fletcher's belt. One strike on the back of the skull should do it, he thought to himself. And he'd be—

Josua Fletcher's moved faster than Bauhzer would have guessed a man who was supposedly inebriated could move. Maybe the human could hold his liquor better than anticipated. Or perhaps, as a rogue, he had trained his body to be resilient to mind-addling and body-debilitating drugs and poisons, like the dreamfoil that had been mixed into his wine.

An annoying detail to realize now, the bruiser inwardly groused as the human's upper half came into view , hand whipping to his belt before flashing toward the goblin in a silver blur.

The dagger whizzed between Bauhzer's bat-like ears at least six inches above the bald dome of his head, and he didn't even duck down. Obviously, the rogue anticipated his attacker to be much taller than the little over four-heads high goblin. Bauhzer smirked darkly and his knuckles cracked as he drew back his fist. An annoying detail to realize now, he was sure.

In the end, it still only took one punch, just to the human's stomach instead. With a precise and powerful swing of his meaty arm, Bauhzer's fist connected with Josua Fletcher's gut so hard it literally sent the human flying off his knees backward onto the pier. The man's eyes grew wide and bulged from their sockets as he immediately regurgitated blood, wine, and other stomach contents. The rogue collapsed onto his side, twitching, retching, and making pitiful, wet heaving and gasping noises.

Merle, sitting up in the pile of rope she and Josua Fletcher had tumbled into, smoothed down her skirts and stood gracefully, nose wrinkled as she regarded the human with an arched brow. "Your name is a lie, Daddy Bauzher," the blood elf said as she stepped to the goblin's side and looked down at him. "You did not knock the silvers from his pocket."

Bauhzer's laugh was a deep, short rumble in his chest and he crossed his arms and canted his head, blue eye searching the area around the human briefly. "Oh? I sure didn'," he grunted, walking forward and stepping over the puddle of Josua Fletcher's sick to put a booted foot on his naked flank and press down hard. The human only groaned in agony and continued to shake, and Bauhzer bent down to rifle through the gathered pants around his ankles, fishing out a leather coin bag.

"Here." He smirked and tossed the bag to Merle. "He's not in a position to take 'em back, yeah? So it counts."

Catching the purse, the blood elf smirked at the bruiser before bouncing it gently in her palm and tucking it in her belt. "Not as impressive as if it had flown from his pocket," she replied with a snicker. Her glowing eyes narrowed disdainfully down at the nearly unconscious man. "A small price for him to pay for pawing all over me." She spat at his writhing form. "Filth. I hope Madame Bella will make him suffer soundly for creeping around us like some snake in the grass."

With another husky chuckle, Bauhzer stepped away from the spy to the courtesan. "Don'cha worry about that, Ms. Merle," he said reassuringly, patting her thigh fondly with his clawed hand and not wasting an opportunity to give it a little caress. "Madame Bella an' I will make sure Mr. Fletcher here gets jus' what he deserves." He gave her a little wink with his remaining good eye. "Ya did good tonight, thanks. Go on and enjoy the rest of the party."

With a feminine giggle, Merle winked back at Bauzher and stooped down to give his bald head a kiss. "Give Madame Bella my love."

Bauhzer watched Merle walk away until she was ascending the stairs of the dock. Two tall figures passed by her and she gave them both a sweet smile before continuing on her way. The one-eyed goblin raised his hand in greeting to the approaching guards that had also been on duty inside the tent before turning to look down at the crumpled spy, towering over him despite his height.

Clucking his tongue, Bauhzer Silverfist—the surname coined by and passed on from his grandfather, who supposedly could knock a man's money from his pockets with one punch—folded his thick arms against his barrel chest and looked down at Josua Fletcher. "C'mon boys," the bruiser said with a grim smirk as the night elf and orc bouncers came to his side. The moonlight and the glow from the electric lamps of the pier flashed over his pointed, yellow teeth, and his single, ice blue eye met the human's terrified, dazed gaze just before he passed out. "Let's help our friend up and put his pants back on. Madame Bella's expectin' him..."

* * *

The sound of the ruby lacquered nails clicking together and tapping against the gleaming, gilded cigarette case intimidated Josua Fletcher more than the two brusiers standing menacingly at his sides. In the heavy silence of the dimly lit office, illuminated by low electric lights, the sound was loud and grating. Hunched sloppily forward in the chair he was tied to, the human's defiant yet frightened eyes followed the smooth movement of the blood-red tipped fingers. He involuntarily flinched when they found the spring-catch on the golden case and it flicked open. Delicately, the fingers plucked out a single long, black cigarillo and put it between a pair of pouty lips as crimson as the painted nails.

Josua Fletcher watched the burly goblin brusier—the one that had knocked him out—bring a lighter from his pocket, flick it to life, and hold its small flame to the end of the cigarillo. The lips puffed and pursed around the ebony end, drawing forth a fragrant smoke that smelled sweet. Too sweet. It made his nose itch and eyes water.

The goblin woman sitting behind the elegant cherry wood desk took a slow, indulgent toke on the cigarillo, completely unconcerned with the bound, battered human sitting across from her. The smoke curled up in sinuous, looping coils around her head and her eyes—the color of a pair of amethyst gemstones—opened behind its opaque screen. Her lips curved up around the filter in a fox-like, shrewd grin before she removed the cigarillo from them to tap its end in the ashtray sitting on the desk.

"Good evenin', Mr. Josua Fletcher," she purred in a low, femininely husky voice. "I apologize for interruptin' your evenin', but you've been comin' around so often and bein' such a generous patron, that I thought it was time we formally meet. Bein' that I know so much about you and you, I assume, know so much about me."

Her tone was casually conversational, belying her sly smirk and hooded eyes. "To properly introduce myself, however, I am Madame Belladonna Steamwheedle. But, of course, ya already knew that, didn't ya? Same as I know that you, Josua Fletcher, are a mercenary originally, and perhaps still, of the Defias Brotherhood. From Westfall, though you've been workin' outta Kalimdor more often than you used to. As a spy and, if the money's right, assassin for hire, am I right?"

Belladonna Steamwheedle paused, allowing for Josua Fletcher to respond if he so choose. Expectedly, the human did not, even pursing his lips and forcing a scowl though his fear was plainly evident. The madame's office was pleasantly cool despite the humid Stranglethorn evening, but the rogue's face and neck gleamed with a sheen of sweat that saturated his linen shirt.

Clucking her tongue against the roof of her mouth with a disapproving shake of her head, Belladonna sighed. "Now, Mr. Fletcher, I was hoping ya'd at least allow the courtesy of actually speakin' to me, considerin' the situation." She canted her head, smiling wider, even sweetly. "There is no reason we have to make this unpleasant."

She allowed another long beat of silence, waiting patiently. Josua Fletcher's lips were clamped so tight they were pale, though his whole face was about as white as a sheet.

The orc and night elf brusiers exchanged a brief glance and a snicker. Bauhzer's single blue eye lowered to regard his employer, but Belladonna did not look away from the spy. When it was obvious the man's tongue would remain still in his mouth, the madame sighed and put her cigarette back to her lips.

"Ya rudeness is…disappointin' and unfortunate," she said, almost apologetically, and took a drag from her cigarillo. When she was done, Belladonna scooted her high-backed chair to stand. Taking up the gilded wooden cane propped up against the near wall, she strode slowly around the goblin sized desk. Her three-beat step thumped quietly against the wood floor, but each soft thud made Josua Fletcher's heart hammer louder in his chest. The madame came to the front of it and leaned back casually. There was a fair amount of space between Belladonna and where Josua Fletcher sat, and he had to lower his gaze to meet eyes with her. Yet that less than four heads tall, petite goblin woman with her mischievous grin and bright eyes filled him with more dread than the burly bruisers.

"Well, if ya gonna insist on not cooperatin', I suppose we'll gloss over the pleasantries and small talk, and just get right to it then," Belladonna said with a little shrug, crossing her hands daintily over the handle of her cane. "I know much about ya, Josua Fletcher, and if I took the time and invested the money, I could find out as much as I care to know. Bein' that ya are sittin' right here, it's just easier to ask you directly."

Taking one last drag from her cigarillo, Belladonna let it rest in the ashtray, and then took a small step toward the human. His dull brown eyes, still fixated on her, were large, round, and glossy. His head was shaking faintly. "You've been prowling around my sweet ladies for a few weeks now like a fox in feathers in a hen house, actin' all well-meaning and good-natured. I'm more offended by the fact you, and whoever hired you, thought me, my boys, and my girls would be too oblivious to notice." Her white, sharp teeth flashed in a brief, toothy smile. "But you aren't the only one who knows how to watch and listen, Mr. Fletcher. And I'd say, in this case, we did a better job of that."

Lifting her ringed hand to her hair, Belladonna idly twirled one of the fat sausage curls hanging by her high green cheekbones. "I'm not gonna waste our time with that ol' 'Tell-me-who-you're-workin'-for-or-I'll-have-my-boys-rough-ya-up' routine. I had a girl that was Defias once. I'm familiar enough with your little club to know you're pretty stout. Ya pride yourselves in bein' resilient, yes? I bet these three could probably beat ya until the sun came up, and ya still wouldn't open ya mouth unless it was to spit up a tooth. It's always funny how the most dishonest of men seem to have the strongest code when it comes to secrecy, though I think it's more about makin' sure ya get paid than a sense of honor."

The tightly curled lock of hair twisted around the madame's finger bounced back into place as she drew her hand forward, pointing the red-nailed digit toward Josua Fletcher's face. A dark, eerie purple light began to pulse around her fingertip, casting his features in an eerie amethyst aura. Even with the finger moving closer, the human still could not avert his terrified stare away from Belladonna's or even close his eyes. He had been trying desperately since he had awoken in the madame's office, but he could not.

"Besides, I'm a pragmatic businesswoman, Mr. Fletcher," she said matter-of-factly, the end of her long nail gently flicking away a messy lock of ginger hair from his face. "It's easier just to skip to step two."

Belladonna gently touched the pad of her finger against Josua Fletcher's pallid forehead right between his eyes, but the agonizing torrent of Shadow magic that struck through his skull was anything but tender. His head flung violently back and the human's mouth stretched open wide to emit a tortured scream of pain, yet no sound escaped his throat save for a strained, raspy choking. His eyes bulged from their sockets, pupils tiny and the whites reddened by veins. Josua Fletcher's feet stomped on the floor and he thrashed and bucked in the chair, but the Kaldorei and orc bruisers held the back firmly, expressions nonchalant and hard.

The spy only endured the agonizing effects of the mind scorching spell for less than a quarter of a minute, but to Josua Fletcher it probably felt much longer. When Belladonna finally drew her hand back, he gulped in a desperate breath like a drowning man and bowed forward. Foamed spittle dripped down his chin and his shoulders shook violently as his head bobbed between them.

"G-Gallywix…" the man confessed in a croak, needing no further coercion. "I was…hired by Gallywix."

A frown creased Belladonna's thin brown brows. "The Trade Prince of the Bilgewater Cartel?"

"There any other Gallywixs?" Josua Fletcher snapped while coughing up red tinted saliva, still trying to catch his breath. He lifted his head and looked voluntarily at the madame, lips quirking in a wry smirk. "I was hired by one of your own."

The surprise that had come with knowing the identity of Josua Fletcher's client was evident on Belladonna's face only for a moment before her expression sobered again. Coolly, she snorted. "I'm Steamwheedle, doll. Not the same." She took a step back to lean against the desk again, taking the pressure off her weak hip. "Ya might as well keep talkin', Mr. Fletcher. I assure ya Gallywix's idea of 'honor' is about as true as ya own."

Pursing his lips, the rogue's eyes briefly flashed with a defiance that disappeared as soon as Belladonna arched her brow expectantly. A defeated breath hissed out of his nose. "I was paid to collect information," he answered curtly.

Eyes narrowing into fuchsia slits, Belladonna's face hardened. "Do not play with me," she spoke mutely.

Her finger lifted from the handle of her cane only to tap lightly against it, but the gesture was enough to remind Josua Fletcher of what it could do. "He's interested in you," the human continued promptly. "He knows about your brothel and the other ventures you're involved in you don't advertise. He knows you're one of top earning moguls in the Steamwheedle Cartel, and that despite being a Steamwheedle, your business ethics concerning who you play nice with are as loose as your whores."

The madame's face twisted and her eyes widened with quick, hot fury. Josua Fletcher flinched back instinctively. "His words, not mine," he quickly added.

Lips twitching, Belladonna hummed. "So where do you and your information come into that, Mr. Fletcher? Is he plannin' on blackmailin' me or tryna slip into my bed?"

"The latter, I would assume," the human replied, nose wrinkling in disdain at the imagery the metaphor conjured. "I don't know much about goblin business politics, and I don't really give two shits. I'm just doing what I was paid for. All I know is that he wanted to make sure it was true you aren't as devoted to the Steamwheedle Cartel as you seem before he approached you about a business deal. He didn't want an entire Cartel at his throat for trying to court you and other moguls he's interested in unless he was certain you wouldn't go running to your Trade Prince."

Brows lifting in understanding, the madame's lips curved into a wide grin. "Oho, I see…" Belladonna chuckled dryly, drumming her long nails against her plump lips. "He's lookin' to slip sweets out of the other Cartels' candy dishes, mmm? And here I thought the Bilgewater Cartel was managing well after that…unfortunate catastrophe." She snickered again, highly amused by the fact Trade Prince Gallywix and his Cartel, who had long been the Steamwheedle Cartel's rival on the goblin homeland of Kezan, were struggling despite becoming the Horde's latest acquisition. And that he was trying to seduce moguls and their businesses into his arms, no less.

"So he finds out that I'm not as…staunch in my business relationships as other moguls," Belladonna posed the hypothetical—and very true—statement, "What then?"

"I assume he'd reach out to you himself, like he did the others," Josua Fletcher replied.

The madame wasn't at all surprised to hear that other moguls had willingly defected to the Bilgewater Cartel. With the tensions between the Horde and the Alliance heating up so fiercely, and the shortage of supplies and trade routes to export and import them, more and more goblin businessmen were forsaking the long practiced dogma of neutrality. With the war-rabid and ferocious Garrosh Hellscream at the Horde's helm, the Alliance suffering on many fronts, and the Twilight's Hammer battering down on both, the Horde seemed like the better team to play for in exchange for better protection. It was a smart move, Belladonna had to admit, if one was willing to get caught up in bloody politics and supplying the warfront without turning much of a profit. Neither was appealing to her.

"And if I refused him?"

Josua Fletcher's lips tightened. "Don't know, but he said he might have…further use of me and my friends for purposes of…coercion."

Belladonna's smile was mirthless. "Expected. He's doesn' seem like the type to take no for answer."

Sighing, the goblin woman straightened her back and drummed her nails lightly on the bulbous handle of her cane. The metallic rapping made the rogue grimace with each beat. "It is true, Mr. Fletcher, that I've been known to dabble in deals with all sorts," she began. "I am Steamwheedle by affiliation and even by blood, but I don't consider myself above this faction and that when it comes to making good business deals. I don't bother with that nasty Horde versus Alliance affair because I've seen enough bloodshed and war in my lifetime. Believe me, honey. I've got the scars to prove that."

Her eyes were cold and the curve of her smile even more bitter. "The Bilgewater bein' with the Horde wouldn' even be the reason I'd ever so politely refuse that fat old toad. No matter how…loose Gallywix may think I am, this—" She gestured at the human. "—is not the way to court a lady into bed. Not that I think he'd have much experience with that."

Grinning shrewdly, Belladonna's sharp teeth gleamed in the low electric lights. "You can feel free to tell him all of that and anything else I've said."

The possibility of living to see another day surprised Josua Fletcher. "You're...going to let me go?"

Belladonna's nose wrinkled. "Well. I'm not gonna _kill _you. As far as lettin' you go, I guess technically I will. However…there is the issue of punishment." She waggled her finger reproachfully at him, smacking her lips in a tut. "A farmer doesn't just let a fox go after he's pawed all over her hens, does she?"

Josua Fletcher's face drained of all color. "Y-you aren't going to curse me again, are you?" he stammered.

"Oh, no, no, no, doll, I wouldn' do that," Belladonna snickered, waving her hand. "It pained me enough to have to persuade you the way I did. I do so hate using magic, as much as I hate blood."

Belladonna turned her eyes up to the two bruisers. "See Mr. Fletcher on his way, boys, after ya strip him down to that pretty white skin of his. I think somewhere between Grom'gol and the Skullsplitter village should do. That'll put him halfway to Fort Livingston at least, yes?"

Balking, the human's mouth fell open, but he sputtered no protests nor begged for his life as the orc and the night elf hauled him out of the chair and forced him to walk out of the office. Being stranded in Stranglethorn Vale was far less worse than being beaten to death, drowned, cursed and hexed, or whatever other misfortunes the shrewd female mogul could have brought down on him.

Unfortunately for Josua Fletcher, who would not escape the jungles alive after he was dropped off in the middle of hostile troll and ogre territory, he would not get to tell Gallywix what Belladonna Steamwheedle really thought of him.

Left alone with the head of her security, Belladonna's cunning smile and cold countenance fell into a furious, troubled scowl. "The nerve of that overstuffed sack of ogre shit…" she grumbled, rubbing her temple." I shoulda sent him his man's head in a box tied with ribbon."

Smirking faintly, Bauzher strode around the desk behind his employer and put his hands on her slim shoulders. "S'not too late, ya know," he said with a dark grin. "I could call the boys back."

"Mmm…" Belladonna grunted softly as Bauhzer's large, calloused hands began to knead the tense muscles in her back and neck. "As tempting as that is, sweetheart, I think that'd send the wrong message. It's taken a long time to build up my rep and the image behind it. I wouldn't want anyone thinking that Madame Belladonna Silverfist is no better than a common ruthless mogul."

Bauhzer chuckled and his dark green lips pulled into a sly grin. "But you _are _ruthless, Bell…" he murmured huskily behind her head, tenderly brushing her thick mane of russet curls over her shoulder.

The bruiser's lips were soft against the back of her neck and Belladonna giggled girlishly, squirming as heat rose to her cheeks. "As ruthless as I allow myself to be," she retorted, playfully nudging him back with her elbow. "And I really don't wanna send the Trade Prince the wrong impression."

His heavy brow arching above his single eye, Bauhzer lifted his head from Belladonna's neck to look at her over her shoulder. "Ya really aren' considerin' his offer, are ya?" he asked.

Snorting, Belladonna looked back at the bruiser. "If I did, I'd be like a woman slippin' into a man's bed after he called her a whore. Which he _did._" Clucking her tongue as the word left a palatable bad taste in her mouth, Belladonna looked toward the wall behind her chair. Her eyes met those of the painted portrait of a stern faced, handsome goblin man painted in a blue naval uniform. "My daddy didn' raise a fool, and it's a fool that Gallywix thinks I am. I'm not tryna piss off the Horde's new goblin pet, but I'm not going to so easily turn the other cheek."

Pleased with her answer, Bauhzer's thick, burly arms curled around Belladonna's waist and he tugged the curvy female against his front. "So whaddya have in mind?"

The madame closed her eyes and sighed softly as the bruiser's lips returned to her bare neck and partially exposed shoulder, pecking tenderly over its slope. "Gallywix must've known I'm already in hot water with the Cartel, and I'd betcha two silvers the other moguls he's goin' after are too."

"Mmm. Interestin' that he ain' daunted by you bein' a Steamwheedle," Bauhzer mused, putting his chin fondly on the woman's shoulder.

The bruiser's comment made Belladonna sneer. "Then maybe he knows more than I think," she huffed, feeling her contempt for the audacious Trade Prince rise. "It's no secret my daddy never got along with his family. Blood's thicker than water, but it's the water he favored. He chose bein' a sailor over Trade Prince and I'm still payin' for that tiff he's got goin' on with my uncle. You think he'd be pleased that my daddy steppin' down allowed him to be head of the Cartel, but…"

She snickered and waved a hand dismissively. "Well, maybe we can move past that bad blood, now that we've been given a chance to dangle something valuable in front of the Cartel's nose. I am sure they are none too happy about a few of their moguls lifting their skirts for someone else."

"Why, Bell…yer not talkin' 'bout playin' the snitch are ya?" Bauhzer gasped with mock appall.

Deviously grinning, Belladonna turned in the goblin's meaty arms and put her hands on his broad chest.

"My dear, sweet husband," she cooed, brushing her fingers against the bruiser's chiseled jaw. "When an opportunity presents itself, we can't be afraid to take it, now can we? This could be very profitable, and we've got bills to pay and mouths to feed like everybody else. Besides, s'not like the other moguls have shown me much love durin' my career. Were they in my position, I don't think they'd afford me any kindnesses."

The madame touched their noses together and Bauhzer grinned, wrapping his thick arms around his wife. "Yer quite sexy when yer wicked, Bell," the bruiser murmured.

Laughing huskily, Belladonna lowered her purple eyes and batted them with a coy demureness. "I'd call myself resourceful, but I'll take that too, sugar." She giggled as Bauhzer tried to kiss her, leaning away from the pucker of his lips. "Now, now, no time for that. There's too much to get done. I've gotta call our own resident spies to get to work. It'll take some diggin' to find out who has been the _real_ whore in all of this."

"Aw, c'mon, Bell, it's already late," Bauhzer groaned, trying to pull the female goblin closer. "I was hopin' we'd get to spend some time alone together. Don't I get some kinda reward fer doin' yer dirty like a good boy like I always do?"

Giggling again, Belladonna's eyelashes fluttered as Bauhzer's flirty, soft pecks left a trail of heat tingling up her neck. "Well, sweetheart, as the old sayin' goes, 'There ain' no rest for the wicked..." The madame sighed and her ruby lips curled into an impish smirk as her forehead rested against her husband and partner's. "But I think I wouldn't mind restin' to be wicked with you..."

* * *

A/N: I cannot tell you enough how much fun I had with this installment. Belladonna and Bauhzer both went from fairly minor SoA characters, to characters that I really came to love and enjoy. I RPed both of them for a while on a goblin-centric RP board that, sadly, is now dead, but what came from it was a lot of development and insight on a pair that I never really thought I would come to get so attached to.

I presented just a few small glimpses into the fairly extensive back story that was developed for these two. Yes, Bauhzer and Belladonna are married, which was something I knew when I first wrote them in SoA. However, some details, like Bella being a warlock, was developed through RP. I never intended for Bella to have a class beyond "awesome businesswoman" but when I started RPing her and developing her past, it fit very well with what came about. Her father who, if you've been to my DA page you've seen, is a Trade Fleet captain who is the brother of the current Steamwheedle Cartel Trade Prince. He would have been in line to become Trade Prince himself, but he never had a love for business and became a sailor instead, which created a big falling out with his family. Belladonna, despite being quite interested in business, is not on friendly terms with the rest of the Steamwheedle clan because of it (and many other reasons, like doing side deals with the likes of the Venture Company and others). Also, the reason for her limp, her being a warlock, and her mention of having been in war before are all tied together. If you know your Warcraft history and what war goblins (and warlocks) were integral in, you may be able to infer what she was talking about. I won't spoil it, just in case I decide to present another story about her and Bauhzer. But, feel free to ask me through a review or Formspring and I'll tell you.

Side note: This story and its title was very much influenced by the song of the same name by Cage the Elephant, which I think is a very appropriate anthem for goblins, even seemingly sweet ones like Bella.

And now you know what Bella and Bauhzer do in their spare time.

**Follow me on Twitter (at TaliaMirai) for story updates and progression.** I tweet fairly often to let you guys know what I'm working on.


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